


The Black Fox

by Lonyn



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 11:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11988708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonyn/pseuds/Lonyn
Summary: Aren is a poor excuse for an elf who's been on the run from her Dalish clan for most of her life. She seeks adventure, and treasure, solace and freedom, when one day she hears about an elf whose trying to unite the elves under one banner to restore what once was. Why is he interested in Arlathan? She doesn't know. All she knows is there might be treasure and the chance to explore old ruins. What she finds there is something she doesn't expect, a man who wandered too close sentenced to sleep for an eternity. She doesn't know what to do with him, but a certain elf is hot on her trail to find him in case The Black Fox knows too much about Arlathan's secrets. ~Set in 9:45 of the Dragon Age after the Inquisition has been disbanded.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea where this is going, if it’s even going anywhere, but ever since I’ve read the codex entries about Lord Remi Vascal AKA The Black Fox AKA the Thedosian equivalent to Robin Hood I’ve been a little obsessed with him. Secretly I’m hoping, since they keep putting tidbits into the story about him, that whenever we go to Arlathan, because it seems like we will, we will somehow awaken Remi like how we found Abelas at the Temple of Mythal. It’s said that he ventured out to find the lost city of Arlathan and that was the last anyone ever heard from him again. So it’s my fantasy that Bioware will bring Remi Vascal to life :D I’ve attempted a story with him before, but didn’t like how it was going, so I wrote another xD Hope it’s alright so far :3

            The wind was howling at her back, scent of rain in the distance wafting by. The clouds were building, seemed to be growing more and more when she moved deeper into the forests of Arlathan. She’d been wandering for some time, disguised, hoping to latch on to secret tales of lost cities and treasures. She figured since she’d finally outrun the rest of her clan at long last, now she could do whatever she pleased.

            She didn’t care much about what was going on down south. She remembered the tales of the blight, caught wind of the Hero of Ferelden, and was even in Starkhaven a while when she’d heard of the crumbling of Kirkwall. The Free Marches weren’t any place to be around, thus she traveled to Rivain for a while, able to blend in easier.

            That’s when she’d caught wind of rumors after the fall of the Inquisition. City elves began to talk, lone Dalish wanderers did too. An elf trying to restore what once was and she scoffed at the notion, till her ears picked up the talks of finding Arlathan. The Lost City. Treasures enough to get her by surely awaited there, and she shivered at the thought.

            Which had begun her newest journey and led her to where she stood. She didn’t believe in all the trite her clan had tried to smother her with. Yet, she believed in old abandoned cities, seen quite a few, and she knew well enough that a rumor had to have been started on some grain of fact at some point. Many had tried this trek, no one returned, but they weren’t her.

            She looked out over the valley, a lake, a spired landmass in the middle. Her eyes caught sight of something in the water, circular paths, and her heart skipped a beat. Could she be on to something? She quickly made her way down the cliffside, and once down she stood at the banks after a good walk. Lightning sizzled across the sky followed by a crack of thunder a minute later. Storm was still far, and she looked into the water. A pathway led to this shoreline, but it was submerged.

            If this was it, surely there were more pathways. She began to look around, skies beginning to darken. She probably should find shelter soon, but she was being drawn here. Something was calling to her, a faint tingle in her mind. Being a mage had its perks, despite one so untrained as her. She’d hid it from her clan, or rather her mother had, knowing if there was something else to exploit from her they would. She’d learned on her own, but she usually didn’t need it. A sword usually did the trick and using magic raised too much ire, especially these days.

            She closed her eyes, boots crunching dried grass and sticks alike, and she let the feeling lead her. It was strange, yes, she’d never quite felt this before. Wind was blowing harder, beginning to stir up more dirt and leaves, but she was close. So close to something.

            So close she’d let her guard down and stepped right into a covered pit of a trap. With a yelp she began to slide, trying to grab onto what she could, but she continued to slide down a sharp slope and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. She braced herself for impact, trying to let off a blast of energy at the right time until finally she was shot out the pit and tumbled across the stone floor cushioned by her barrier.

            This wasn’t favorable, but she had stumbled upon something and immediately she felt unease. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she shouldn’t be here. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she was able to see a torch set into a holder on the wall. Grabbing it, she made to light it with the limited fire magic she knew, yet it sparked a green light that enveloped the room instead.

            ‘Never done that before,’ she thought, but began to look around, finding herself in a large room. A grand hall perhaps?

            Her mind echoed with a faint and desperate cry for help. It was a man from what it sounded like, and he was in agony. Eternal agony. Her ears heard nothing, yet she was propelled to walk down a long corridor. She felt a rumble in the earth and stilled, cracks beginning to form in the walls as dust and chips of stone pieces fell from the ceiling. It didn’t last long, just a quick shake, yet she figured this wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

            A way out. She knew she needed one, but his voice called out to her again. She was pulled further down the hall, up stairs and across, weaving around until she found a chamber. She couldn’t read the writing on the walls, she knew bits and pieces of elvish, but she was a horrible elf as far as she knew. Too tall to look like she fit in amongst her people and too flippant. She didn’t care. She didn’t belong with other Dalish and she didn’t belong with humans. But she wished she knew more than what she knew to read the script that scrawled across the wall, though she began to believe that maybe this was even beyond the Dalish’s knowledge.

            There was a platform in the middle of the room, so she slowly walked towards it. The calling in her mind grew louder and she set the torch on the floor as she smoothed her hands along the altar. It glowed, writing scrawling in glowing green light flowed along the surface till it reached her fingertips. She felt a cooling sensation; something was pulsing, a heartbeat, a stolen breath.

            Another rumbled knocked her to the floor and she could feel smaller rocks beginning to fall from the ceiling. A light spattering of water touched her cheek, yet it was too dark to see just what had happened. She had to get out of here, a growing sense of danger was consuming her, yet she was still pulled to the altar.

            “If you need help, you’re going to need to tell me…” She murmured, and the writings were still glowing, pulsing. She couldn’t read anything on it, and she hopelessly traced her finger as one phrase came to mind. “Ar lasa mala revas.”

            Bright light blinded her as she moved back, shielding her sensitive eyes. She tried to look noticing a figure lowering from the ceiling. Was she dreaming this? He seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was bound, human, looked mostly dead from what she could tell and he came to rest at the altar, lying him flat on the surface.

            Stepping closer she looked him over. He was clad in a shirt usually fitted underneath a set of light armor, and pants, more than likely a prisoner since he was bound with no armor to be found. He wore no boots, yet he bore a few distinctive rings on his fingers. One on each pinky and one on his thumb. Curious. His hair was brown, skin a pale olive she attributed to his deathlike state. Was he dead? She wasn’t sure. She hopped up onto the platform on her knees beside him and placed two fingers to the pulse point in his neck. He had none, but he felt somewhat warm with darker color returning to his skin.

            Another rumble shook and she braced herself over top of him, when suddenly his eyes opened, pale blue hues staring back at her as if he’d seen a ghost. She was startled enough that she fell back off the altar, and her luck or lack thereof took a turn for the worst and water began to gush through a crack in the ceiling. The man was gasping, he was rasping out what sounded like Orlesian, and she stood to look at the growing problem.

            Water was slowly rising on the floor, and the light was beginning to wane. She grabbed the torch before it was drenched and the two of them locked eyes again. He looked tired, weak, and she moved his way. She set the torch on the bench as he tried to sit up.

            “Qu'est-ce qui se passe?” He asked and she shook her head.

            “I don’t speak Orlesian,” She told him as she placed her hands over the magic shackles at his wrists. It took a moment, but she was able to knock the seal away with a small mind blast. She couldn’t tell if the look he gave her was distrust or disapproval, but she shrugged. “If you want to live, we might want to leave.” She told him as more water began to gush inside. She helped him down, his weight nearly toppling her over. He was tall himself, broad shoulders that didn’t do much to help her, but he wasn’t too bulky. He more had an archer’s physique. “Now,” she grunted, “would be a good time to walk.”

            He grunted himself, trying to put weight on his legs. “I’m trying,” he spoke in the common tongue, Orlesian accent still thick on it.

            She helped him slosh through water, yet she wasn’t able to see where she was even going despite being able to hold onto the torch. It’s fading green light didn’t illuminate much, and there wasn’t much more help as intuition went; it wasn’t as if she could go back the way she came.

            He weakly pointed, “that way,” and she shook her head.

            “I hope you know what you’re doing.” A faint yes left his lips in answer and she moved along, yet they weren’t going to get far with the water pouring in around them. “I hope you can swim,” she told him, pulling him along as best as she could. His feet were stumbling less as they found some stairs and he braced himself against the wall, water flowing past his fingers.

            Another rumble, the sound of a gushing flood, and a stone from the ceiling hit her back, causing her to fall into him as he braced themselves against the wall. The torch fell, the stairwell going dark. She could see his face and he was looking at her as he held onto her, and she rolled her shoulder out, catching her foothold as she helped him further up. Water was pouring down the stairs, making it harder to keep moving, and she’d finally made it to the top and pulled him around the corner.

            “So which way?” She asked him. He looked around, there was barely any light and for him he probably couldn’t see as well as she could in the dark.

            “I can’t see. Can’t you do something?”

            “I’m not an ethereal light mage, nor shining bright knight enchanter,” She spoke dryly, listening to him grunt. She held her hand forward, flicking her wrist to hold a light fireball. It illuminate a little bit of their chamber and he looked around, squinting.

            “This way… I think.”

            “Well, that’s rather helpful,” she said sarcastically and saw him furrow his brows.

            “Do you have a better idea?” He asked and she didn’t have time to offer up a rebuttal as a rush of water swept them off their feet and down the hall. The damn lake must’ve been flooding the chamber, and she wasn’t sure where he was at, feeling around for him, and finally catching his arm, though in the oncoming wave she’d lost him yet again.

            Water was quickly filling the hall, and she held her breath before going under. She spotted him, swimming his way, heart beating wildly. She hated deep water, but she didn’t want to die. She grabbed him, pulling him with her. There was a faint light and she kept swimming as hard as she could. Her lungs burned, she wasn’t sure if he was even swimming any longer, but she wasn’t about to leave him now that she’d found him. It seemed like it took an eternity, she’d managed to pull them out the hole in the ceiling by using her energy to push into the flow.

            Kicking, burning on the inside, she was barely holding on to him, knowing she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She grasped him tight with one arm around his chest from behind, wrapping her legs around his waist. She pointed her hand down beneath them, releasing as big of a blast of energy as she could muster, surging them upward and finally cresting the water. She gasped for air as they smacked into the surface once they’d fallen back down. He was coughing up water and she was gasping for air, tired, trying to find her bearings enough to at least float on the lake.

            She felt the splatter of water touch her face, then realized rain was also falling. She sunk under and felt a hand around her wrist pulling her back up. Mustering enough energy she was able to finally start swimming and bumped into the pathway she’d seen earlier beneath the surface. It took all she had to heft herself onto it, water still sloshing over the surface.

            “Orlesian?” She called out. She looked over, saw him slumped and she scooted over to help pull him up. He was breathing heavy, but trying to sit up as she laid beside him.

            “We must keep moving,” he gasped, “they will come.”

            “Who?” She asked, not moving from her spot.

            “The elves that trapped me.” He said.

            “There are no elves here anymore.” She panted, “And if there was I believe they might be underwater.”

            “You don’t understand—” he started angrily, blue eyes darkening with anger.

            “I don’t think you do.” She smarted back.

            He was frustrated and they both were startled as an arrow slung by them skittering off the landing they were on. She scrambled to her feet, throwing up a weak barrier. An arrow pierced through it, slowed only slightly to shallowly stab her in the shoulder. She growled, pulling out the arrow, and her Orlesian counterpart seemed to have a surge of adrenaline as he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Arrows flew by them, she tried to keep the barrier up but she was stumbling behind him.

            “Run!” He said to her, and she grunted as she abandoned the barrier to conserve what little energy she had left to run.

            “This way,” She said, seeing stairs carved into the cliffside. She wished she’d seen that earlier, but there was no time to lament as they began to ascend them. Once up top, she pulled him off to the side, heading to where she’d left her pack in case of something like this. She stumbled as they found the tree, she grabbed her pack and looked around. “Do you see anything?” She asked.

            “What are you doing here?”

            She startled at hearing another voice and backed away so she was in front of her new Orlesian best friend. There was an elf standing before her; she’d never seen that kind of armor before, it looked old, ancient even. He was pale, bald, sharp long features yet his looks betrayed the timeworn and archaic feel to his grey blue hues. He had an old feel to him, intimidating, looking down on her despite the minimal difference in height between them.

            “What are you doing here, da’len?” He asked and she sneered at the use of that childish moniker. “Sneaking about in places you do not understand?” She stood up straighter, challenging him, though every instinct in her told her to run, yet her mind knew there was no use. “Do you mean to steal from our people?”

            “I’ve not stolen anything,” She responded.

            “You’ve awoken and stolen that trespasser behind you.” He said coolly, still standing in the same spot in front of her. Her companion said something behind her in Orlesian, but she placed her arm in front of him, feeling an odd sense to keep him safe.

            “I helped someone who was trapped, nothing more.”

            “Yet another treasure seeker who was unable to find what he was looking for. They captured you, Fox. That is who you are is it not? I dreamt here, I saw one by one your companions fell.” She felt anger radiating behind her from him, her palm settling against his chest as he pushed forward. She could feel the wild beat of his heart. “You led them here. Promised them riches. One last venture; your stolen year still biting hard at the recesses of your mind. You would repay them for your release, yet… you led them all to their death. Your dearest friend was the last. What was his name? Ka—”

            “Tais-toi!” He growled from beside her. “Shut up!”

            “We meant no trouble.” She spoke.

            “I’ve seen you before.” The mysterious elf said and she raised a brow.

            “Surely you haven’t.”

            “Perhaps I’ve dreamed of you as well. Dalish, yet you’re missing the vallaslin. A barefaced elf, not worthy enough for them to have you bear their slave markings, half of her ear missing. Slaughtered half her clan before escaping the others.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sneered, unnerved by his knowledge.

            He chuckled lightly. “I can offer you a chance to see our true people restored. You seem formidable enough.”

            “Stop.” She put her hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not one of you.”

            “You could be.”

            “I don’t want to be.”

            He sighed, “I cannot let you leave with him. He may have knowledge I might need.”

            She stood in front of him, protective once more. She wondered why she cared, though it may have been more along the lines of not letting someone as arrogant as he was win.

            “That’s not going to happen.” She said, air of fake confidence swarming her. She could feel this elf was powerful, and if he was the one that other elves were speaking of, the Inquisitor’s former lover, then she knew he wasn’t one to mess with.

            “Very well,” His eyes began to glow and she felt her limbs growing stiff until her body reacted. Something seemed to explode out from her. Then nothing.

 

~~~

 

            She began to open her eyes, raindrops tapping her face. It was hard to remember everything that had happened, the aches sharply stinging within her body, yet slowly it all came back to her.

            Groaning, she rolled to her side, chest aching and she heard a voice nearby. “Are you alright?” Making the same noise she searched for where he was at, then found him slowly coming to sit next to her. “I don’t know what you did, but whoever that was is gone.”

            “Comforting.”

            “Seemed to know you,” He implied.

            “Seemed to know you too,” She answered, wiping the rain from her face. She was still cold, soaked, and was only growing colder as her body shivered.

            “Why did you not let him take me?”

            She shrugged, “I don’t know. Seemed a shame to let someone I just saved go with a pompous asshole like that.” She winced as she made to sit up, he helped her, though she could see he was still weak as well. There was a sullen look on his features. “Was what he said true? About you?”

            “Was it true for you?” He shot back weakly and she dropped it.

            “So, Fox, was it? What’s a human doing in Arlathan.” He gave her a look. “Oh, right. One last venture.”

            “You can call me… Remi.” He said uneasily then with more conviction. “You can call me Remi.”

            She looked him over curiously, she could see that he didn’t know if he could trust her and then the wheels began to turn for herself. “Wait. What? That can’t be right. You’re not… You can’t be.”

            “The Black Fox, yes. That’s me.” He threw away a twig he’d been breaking into tiny pieces. “No use in lying to you. You saved me. I owe you that honesty.”

            “If you’re the Black Fox you owe me more than that.” She chuckled. “You know, even the Dalish told your tales.”

            “How long did I sleep?” He asked.

            “Well, it’s 9:45 of the Dragon Age. You tell me.”

            He blew out a sigh, “Fifty years.” He shook his head. “It’s really been fifty years… It felt like an eternity.”

            “Well, you should’ve kept sleeping. They say the end of the world is near. Rumors of another blight.”

            “Another?”

            “Already had one. Roughly fifteen years ago.” She was finally able to grab for her pack. Rummaging in it she found her canteen and drank from it, tossing it his way. “It happened in Ferelden. Ravaged their country. Their King was doing wonders until they ousted him. Not sure what happened to him, or the Queen for that matter.”

            “Orlais must be loving that.” He mumbled and she snorted.

            “Orlais is too busy killing each other to notice, my friend.” She told him.

            “Real pity,” He said, she could hear the sarcasm on his words.

            “No love loss for country?”

            “A pit of snakes and backstabbers. Not much love to speak of.” He said, glancing her way and looking her over. She knew she was a mess in the moment, her hair was golden brown on its best of days, piled up into a messy bun. She covered her ears with a headband, trying to shield as much of her elven roots when she was in cities. “Thank you… For saving me. Twice now. I do owe you.”

            “You do,” She smirked. “But you’re welcome.”

            “What is your name?”

            She looked him over as well, his pale blue hues staring back at her, waiting. She noticed now that they weren’t running, that he was quite handsome, yet the sadness was still overtaking him. If what that elf said was true, he really hadn’t much time to mourn. “Aren.” She finally told him. “My name is Aren.”


	2. Chapter 2

            It’d been days since they’d been wandering through the forests of Arlathan. Remi wasn’t sure Aren knew where she was going and it’d been so long since he’d been through here, he was afraid he wasn’t much help as well. They kept heading east at her insistence, though he really wasn’t fond of heading into Antiva. It gave him bad memories.

            “I hardly believe that the Crows still have a contract out on your head,” She said as he’d voiced his displeasure once again about heading into the heart of that crooked country. “Besides if you had still been alive you’d be what… Almost ninety?”

            “Eighty-two to be more precise.” He muttered, looking down at his aching feet. She’d managed to make him some footwraps that helped, something she’d learned from the Dalish, but he really would like to have some new clothes, possibly some armor. He felt bare and completely vulnerable in just a shirt and pants.

            “So there, you’d be an old man. The Crows won’t even remember who you are.”

            “Unless they thought I had a son.”

            “Who’d still be older than what you look now. It’s been fifty years.” She argued and he was becoming a little frustrated. Normally, in his past, he was able to be rather charming and get his way. However, he wasn’t able to turn it on as easily as he’d used to. He felt empty inside, not at all like himself.

            “How about Tevinter? It would be faster to get to Orlais that way.” She stopped and he bumped into her shoulder.

            Gesturing to her ears, which he couldn’t see underneath her head scarf, he stared at her before she spoke. “I don’t go to Tevinter. I don’t feel like being a slave.”

            “You can take care of yourself.”

            “Would you like to take a guess at how many mages there are in Tevinter?”

            She had a point there, “Apologies.” He said.

            “I’ll do what I can to get you back to Orlais.” She told him.

            “Why? I may not have anything to offer you. Besides, I cannot get into my stronghold without my rings, I’ve been missing seven since… A long time ago.” He saw a smirk rise to her lips.

            “I heard a rumor that Empress Celene has one. As well as Grand Duke Gaspard.” He looked at her with a puzzled expression.

            “How would you know that?”

            “Do you know how much Orlesians like to brag? You should know.”

            “Touché.” He nodded. She had a point there. He continued to follow her. She was an interesting sort, very evasive on the subject of her upbringing, but also crass and blunt. She was different, though not too much different than some ladies he’d met during his travels.

            “So how did you really avoid the Crow’s contract on your head?” She asked. He didn’t really want to talk about that, but they’d traveled in silence for a while, and he hadn’t much else to speak about.

            “You wouldn’t believe me.” He said.

            “Try me. I’ve gotten out of many a shit situation myself.”

            “Well, most stories you’ve heard are probably untrue. Yet the Crows did come after me.” He told her. “I was young, arrogant, and pissed off at the lack of responsibility of the other Lords.”

            “Weren’t you a Lord yourself?” She asked, and he nodded.

            “Thrust into it very young. I wasn’t the best son, yet my father was murdered and I found he still left it all to me.”

            “What?”

            “You’ve heard of the game, yes? My father was a poor participant, caught up in something he did not want to be part of. My mother and father were murdered as a result.”

            “I’m sorry.” She said, he could see it in her eyes that she was genuine, she must’ve lost someone dear to her in similar fashion.

            “I found those responsible. When I did I wore a mask, and I killed those who had a hand in the deed. It was the first time I killed someone. As a result, I felt I needed to repent. I began to steal from those who had and gave it to those that did not.”

            “Never keeping any for yourself?” She smirked at him.

            “I robbed myself.” He finally cracked a smile her way and she began to laugh.

            “Did you really?” He found himself smiling a little more at the sound of her laughter.

            “I had to keep others from suspecting me. So yes, I broke into my estate, took some of my valuables, and distributed it out amongst the poor.”

            She started laughing again, “That’s beautiful! How did they find out it was you?”

            “I don’t know, but the Lord of Val Chevin, whom I harassed quite often, finally figured it out. That’s when the Crows contract came and I was almost murdered in my sleep. It was not a pretty fight, but I managed to escape. I went on the run, and after each group didn’t come back they finally dropped the contract.”

            “You’re a lot more fun than I realized. I was beginning to think the legends were all splendor, but you’ve surprised me.”

            “It was not my aim to create such tales. I heard of one where I caused disruption in a political matter in Nevarra. I don’t recall disrupting anything aside from some bandits on a road, passing by.”

            “Well, there is no point to a legend without splendor.” She said, and he eyed her curiously as he stopped to rest by a tree. She passed him her canteen and he drank, liquid still cool, quenching his thirst.

            “Tell me… Where did you hear about me? I am surprised I was that infamous. Maybe in Orlais, yes, but out here?”

            “Spending a lot of time in taverns is a habit. You learn more dirty secrets that way,” She gave him a wink. She would do well with the game if she wasn’t so blunt.

            “You have ideas?” He asked, watching the beginnings of a sly smirk slide to her lips.

            “Well… How about I help you recover your rings?” She said. “I’m up for a bit of fun.”

            “Is that all this is to you? Fun? You find the lost Elvhen city of Arlathan and you… Don’t care about sharing that knowledge with other elves?” He watched her eyes roll, the waning light glinting off of them akin to a cat. She was frowning now, taking a swig of water herself.

            After a deep breath she put it back into her pack. “Shall we move on?”

            “You will not answer me?” He asked, even more curious now.

            “Let me put it this way, I am no kin to the Dalish.”

            “But you were once, no?” He pushed finally seeing her relax slightly.

            “They… No. I was never a Dalish.” He watched her swallow hard, reserve steeled once more as she rolled her shoulders back. It seemed her wound had healed quite nicely already, and he presumed she was at least a little adept with healing magic. “I would not bestow this knowledge upon them, and city elves care not of old Dalish fables.”

            “You do not care?”

            “No,” She turned to him, brows only slightly furrowed, “Besides. I’ve learned well enough by now that if I start boasting then I am hunted for my knowledge.” She shrugged finally, moving forward and he followed. “Also, I would not send idiots into a blood bath. That elf is surely patrolling.”

            “Did you know him?” He changed the subject, curiosity not strong enough to make her more uncomfortable. “He seemed to know a great deal of us.”

            “I think… I think he was involved with the Inquisition.”

            “Inquisition? You had an Inquisition?”

            She nodded, “I don’t know much about it, only what I’ve heard on my journeys. I’m not absolutely positive, but he looked a lot like an elf that was described to have been a part of the Inquisition. There was a breach in the sky, demons pouring from the fade, then the Inquisitor stopped it.” She huffed, “A Dalish woman was their ‘Herald of Andraste.’ She bore this mark that could close rifts. I’m muddy on the details, I didn’t care to know much about it. I traveled as far away from Ferelden as I could.”

            He eyed her curiously, she knew more rumors than she was sharing. “What else do you know about this elf?”

            “If,” She started slowly, “he is who the rumors say he is. Supposedly he wants to restore the elves to ‘what once was.’”

            “Well,” he was shocked, “perhaps that is why he is so fixated on Arlathan.”

            She shrugged again, “Other elves have disappeared, seeking him out as if he’s some sort of savior.”

            “What do you think?” He asked her.

            “He’s full of shit.” She said, which caused him to laugh. “Following people, revering them, it never ends well.”

            “Well said.” He chuckled, though he wasn’t averse to believing in a higher power, the Maker himself. However, it wasn’t as if he was a practicing Andrastian.

            It took the better part of another day to make it out of the forest and finally into a village. She acquired some new clothes for him, leathers that she could afford, and he wondered why she was being so accommodating. He could only surmise it was for a reward. No one did anything for free and she didn’t seem to be free of that notion.

            She’d managed to smooth talk her way into a free room at an inn and he was grateful to get out of the cold and damp of the outside world. He needed time to think, time to figure out what he really should do.

            It wasn’t long before the guilt and suspicion set in. She’d already done too much, and he could get her killed if she traveled with him. And he knew the only reason she was staying with him was so she could receive payment. She deserved it, yes, but he couldn’t give her that. He didn’t have untold treasures, and he wasn’t even sure what was in his stronghold any longer. Was it even there?

            They’d settled into their room, she’d flopped onto the bed and he went into the washroom. There was a worn mirror, but he could see himself. Tired, hair a mess. Far cry from the charming, striking rogue he used to be. He didn’t feel like himself. He didn’t feel normal. Something wasn’t right, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

            Everything he knew and loved was gone. His friends were gone, his life was over, and he had been the sole cause. What could he possibly do in this new world that was supposedly falling apart at the seams? They’d been eating earlier, he could hear people talking. An elf that was cloaked was chatting with one of the tavern maids. He was trying to convince her to leave and follow him. A new and better life awaited. Perhaps Aren was right. There was something different about that elf they encountered and he certainly needed to get as far away from here as he could.

            He wanted him for some reason, yet he couldn’t fathom why. He didn’t have any knowledge of Arlathan, he was certain someone like that would have known more anyway. He hadn’t found any secrets, only traps out in the wilds. Clementis and Bolek had been first. He and Karolis had been lucky to get away, until they’d made it inside the ruins. Then…

            His fingers curled, fists clenching. His best friends and most trusted companions were dead because of him. He wanted to hit something, this sinking feeling in his chest, this growing pit trying to consume him. He didn’t want Aren to succumb to that fate. He couldn’t deny that he thought she was a beautiful woman, he’d gladly stay in her company if the circumstances were different. She had more than beauty on her side, she was cunning, bold, but he’d get her killed just like the others. He was poison now.

            Quietly, Remi peeked from around the bathroom’s door. Aren was asleep on the bed, lovely long lines and shapes of her body presented a pretty visual in the moon’s light. He could fall asleep right next to her, let her join him on this journey, but he couldn’t. He gathered his pack, slipping his boots back onto his feet. He found something to leave a short and quick note, an apology, a plea for her to not follow him to her ruin. She’d move on. She’d soon tire of his company and seek more adventure, he was sure.

            Remi stole one last look at her sleeping form. He wasn’t trapped any longer, he had her to thank for that, but was this life of misery worth waking up for? With a soft sigh he left into the darkness of the night, eyes heavy, but determined to keep his savior safe. It was the least he could do for her. He hoped that was reward enough.

 

~~~

 

            Aren couldn’t shake this man from her head. He’d left her in the dead of night, simple note stating his sorrow and concern. She rolled her eyes. The bastard left her hanging and without a proper goodbye. Admittedly she knew she was a little greedy, but she was also concerned for him without really understanding why. She felt like it was her duty to keep him safe. She hoped he knew what he was doing. She’d slept far too long to catch up with him.

            She wasn’t about to give this up, however. She knew exactly what he’d end up doing. He had a lead on two of his rings, he’d probably search those out to see if the last shred of his old life was still around. She’d heard about his legends all over, it was the most talked about tales in taverns all over Thedas.

            When she’d gotten back into the Free Marches, she’d rouse the locals up about his legends. She’d heard so much about his adventures, even she could barely believe that he was actually the real deal. He certainly was nothing like how the tales depicted him, however he didn’t seem like he was himself. There really was a certain sorrow, a melancholy way to him. He’d lost his companions and it probably felt as though it’d happened mere moments before waking.

            She felt bad for him, tried to make him laugh, she’d manage to sneak a lightened smile from him from time to time, but that sadness was still there. Maybe she could help him? She had nothing else better to do, wandering aimlessly, having done nothing for anyone but herself. Plus she was curious. He insisted he didn’t have untold treasures, but there had to be something to his legends.

            She’d found a lead, a ring was fabled to have been hidden away in a trove near Kirkwall. It was worth a shot, and as luck would have it, she’d actually come across one of Kirkwall’s most famous residents before he was so famous. He was their current Viscount.

            Entering Kirkwall was certainly something she never thought she’d see. It was as imposing as others had said. Touches of Kirkwall’s bitter past lined the way by boat, and it was unnerving to say the least.

            The boat moved forward, not many people were on board and heading into Kirkwall these days. They mostly went in to deliver supplies. Ever since the conflict that happened here five years ago most people didn’t want to stay. Though Varric had been doing some pretty good things from what she’d heard. He’d also witnessed what happened within the Inquisition, and admittedly she was somewhat curious about those events.

            Once inside the city, she moved on, heading up into Hightown. She’d sent word forward to Varric, so when she’d told the guards her name they’d let her through. He was apparently in his office, and once closer there was arguing going on. A woman and a man; the man didn’t sound like Varric. The door swung open, a fellow with ginger hair came out looking frustrated, and she could see a ginger haired woman smirking clad in guard armor inside the office.

            “Those two drive me INSANE!” He muttered and stopped when he spotted her. “Who are you?” He asked, narrowing his gaze.

            “Aren, I’m here to see Varric.” She told him and he rolled his eyes.

            “Ah yes, he’s been expecting you. You may go in.”

            She nodded, stepping into the doorway, the woman, a very tall one at that, eyed her for a moment. “I hope your friend isn’t as unscrupulous as the last ones to visit you, Varric.” She said and Varric began to chuckle. He looked exactly as she’d remembered him. Brown blonde hair, still pulled back, chest hair nearly on full display. She would’ve been disappointed if he’d looked radically different.

            “Oh Lucky is an angel.” Varric said sarcastically and Aren snorted.

            “Greetings, I’m Aveline Vallen, Captain of the guard. So if you make trouble, I’ll know about it.” She stared her down and Aren smiled.

            “I’ve no _plans_ to make trouble, but the day is still young.”

            “Oh great, she’s another Hawke.” Aveline rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly at the memory of what she assumed was a dear friend. “Are you a friend from the Inquisition?”

             “No, it’s a bit more complicated than that?” She looked at Varric who was grinning about their conversation.

            “Lucky thought that she was stealing something important from me. Which it was. To me that is. However, to her, it was probably useless.”

            “It was. No one cared then about an authentic manuscript by Varric Tethras.” Aren grumbled, shifting her weight onto one leg and crossing her arms.

            “So I offered a reward to whomever returned it.”

            Aveline raised a brow, “Did you?”

            “I did, but I made him come to me.” She laughed.

            “Yeah, all the way to Starkhaven,” Varric groaned. “This was all a little before the blight happened. You were only what? Fresh off the Dalish farm right?”

            “Something like that.” She said.

            “You’re Dalish?” Aveline asked and Aren grimaced.

            “Sort of,” she told her.

            Aveline chuckled softly, slight shake of her head. “That sounded like an answer from Hahya Lavellan. Well, I shall take my leave, Viscount.” Varric groaned and she could only smirk. “I have business to attend to.”

            “She means her husband.” Varric whispered loudly, Aveline rolling her eyes again.

            “Varric, you may be Viscount, but that doesn’t mean I still won’t beat you.”

            “Promises, promises,” He teased, and Aveline nodded her way, bidding them farewell and Aren moved into the room to sit in the chair across from Varric.

            “How did this all happen?”

            “I don’t really want to get into it…” When she stared at him he let out a sigh. “It’s complicated.” Silence beat between them only a moment before he spoke again. “Alright, Lucky, what’s got you so wound up that you had to come here and visit little old me?”

            “Have you heard the tales of the Black Fox?” She asked, getting to the point.

            “Who hasn’t? He’s known all across Thedas. Don’t tell me you’re trying to find his treasure?” Varric began to laugh. “That’s going to be a difficult task even for you.”

            “I know, but that’s the fun yeah?” She grinned, easing back to prop her foot up on his desk, just as he was doing. “I heard that he had a small treasure stashed somewhere around Kirkwall, know anything about it?”

            Laughing, the dwarf had that knowing grin on his face. “I’m afraid you’re too late for that. We found that already.”

            “Was there a ring?”

            He nodded, “Yeah, there was. Hawke liked it, she kept it for herself. You do realize you need all ten rings to open his stronghold right?”

            “Yes, and?”

            “Well, there’s rumors that Celene and Gaspard have one given to them by Lady Mantillon.”

            “Yes, I know those rumors as well.”

            “Did you also know that Lady Mantillon is dead?”

            “Shit…” She muttered. She had planned to find the woman and see if she had anymore of the rings too.

            “Her estate _is_ still there. I think her son’s still kicking, but with Orlesian politics who knows right?”

            Aren snorted, “Right.” She agreed, and slipped her feet from his desk to lean forward a little. “So where’s Hawke?”

            Varric began to laugh again, tipping his chair back just slightly. “You want to take it from Hawke? What makes you think I’m going to tell you where she’s at?”

            Shrugging, the elf made a face. “You owe me?”

            “Oh, sweet naïve Arenaria, I don’t owe you anything else but laughter.”

            Aren frowned, “Can you at least ask Hawke? Can I ask Hawke? Can you send her a missive for me?”

            “Whoa, whoa, calm down. Do you actually know the location to his stronghold?” He asked, inquisitive nature getting the better of him.

            “No, but I know someone who does.” She grinned, still pretty smug that she was the one who found Arlathan, and him for that matter.

            “And who exactly is that?”

            “It’s a secret.”

            “Really? You’re going to keep a secret from me?”

            “Yes. You can’t keep secrets.” She told him, eyes narrowing.

            “Well, who says I’ll help you then?”

            She shrugged, “No matter. Hawke leaves quite a trail anyway.”

            Varric snorted, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

            A thought struck her, that elf standing before her in Arlathan. She’d had a hunch about who he was, but she wanted to ask Varric to confirm it. “So what happened when the Inquisition disbanded?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “That’s when all the elves started to act strange.” Varric raised a brow and she corrected herself. “Stranger.”

            “Yes, well. Lots of shit you won’t believe went down. I would say you can read it in my book, but I’m waiting for Hahya to finish reading it to get her approval. Normally that wouldn’t matter to me, but seeing as how she’s very… Personally involved in what could happen in the future, well, I see it only fair that she approve it.”

            “And?”

            “And she’s a very slow reader, or she’s just making sure I don’t publish it.” He grimaced, finally straightening up in his chair and letting it fall into place on the floor. “I don’t know if I trust you with your own copy.”

            “I could tell you if it’s shit or not?” She said, and he began to laugh.

            “You tell me all my writing is shit. No offense, sort of Dalish, traveling adventurering thief is not exactly my target audience.”

            “I heard you’re quite popular in Orlais.”

            “Who’d have figured that shit?” He shook his head. “What do you want to know, Aren?”

            “What’s going on with the elves?”

            “Shouldn’t you know?” He questioned and she stared at him.

            “No, they took half my elfness away when they sliced off half my ear.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, a hiss carrying between them.

            “Andraste’s tits, kid, is that what the headscarf is for?”

            “That and humans are still assholes about elves.”

            She watched Varric’s head bob back and forth, eventually settling into an agreeable nod. “Well, you’re not wrong.” He took in a breath, letting out a dramatic sigh. “What can I tell you? The elves have gone mad. Let’s just say Solas took a level in crazy, and your Dread Wolf is actually alive and well.”

            “You’re shitting me?”

            “Wish I was, but no. Not kidding. Turns out the Dread Wolf was one of our companions the whole time, and it was Solas. Poor Hahya… She went through too much and that bastard…” She watched his fists clench on the desk until he forced himself to uncoil his fingers and laced them together in front of him. “Hahya fell in love with him. It seemed like he cared for her, but who knows at this point. Cole, one of our more spiritual friends so to speak, insisted Solas’s feelings were real.”

            “What happened? Or rather what _is_ happening?”

            “What’s happening is that apparently he wants to tear down the veil and return the elves to their former glory.”

            “Well, that sounds promising.”

            “Allegedly it’s supposed to end our world.”

            Making a face Aren had to take a moment to ponder that thought. “How’s he supposed to return us to our former glory if this world’s going to end?”

            “Beats me, that’s the part I can’t figure out as well. I’m pretty sure everyone’s going to die? That part got a little… Confusing when Hahya told us the story.”

            “What’s he look like?” She asked.

            “Pale, bald, an otherworldly, pompous sense of self-worth.”

            “I think I met him.”

            “What?”

            Nodding, Aren stood to walk around. “Shit, yes, I’m pretty sure that was him. Started rambling about seeing my companion and I in dreams.”

            “Yep. That’s Solas. I see you didn’t piss him off. You’re still alive. And not stone.”

            She grimaced as she turned back to face him. “Um…” She muttered, “He did something… Then I did something… I’m almost certain I pissed him off.”

            “What… What exactly are you talking about?” Varric looked worried and she shrugged.

            “He tried to take my friend away, said he may have knowledge that he could use. I didn’t take too kindly to that, stood in front of him, and some… I don’t know, something erupted from me and I blacked out. When I woke up my friend told me that Solas had disappeared…”

            “Well… That’s not going to end well for you, my friend,” Varric crossed his arms, head shaking again.

            “He tried to persuade me to help him. He was a little too arrogant for my tastes.”

            With a snort her dwarven companion nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty accurate. I think in some way Hahya believes she can redeem him.” She watched his grin turn back into a frown. “I don’t think she’ll ever be over him. But… I could also see her killing him if it came down to it.”

            “Wow,” Aren remarked, the Inquisitor sounded a lot more ruthless than some of the heraldic stories she’d heard.

            Sighing, Varric waved a hand. “This shit’s too tragic for me. I was hoping I had my fill of it after Kirkwall damn near imploded, but apparently I had to witness that story too. Everything’s falling apart it seems.” He frowned. “So, I’m still curious about this friend of yours. How is he important to Solas?”

            Aren shrugged. “I don’t know. Why would he also tell me I may be of use to him?”

            “You’re a pretty decent mage when you put your mind to it.”

            “Yes, well… Be that as it may—”

            “I’ll have Aveline lock you up until you tell me who this friend of yours is.”

            She frowned, narrowing her eyes his way. “No you won’t.”

            “I’m Viscount, I can do whatever I want.”

            “I’m not telling you, Varric. It could be very bad for him if this got out. I don’t want to get him in more trouble than he already is. I want to help him.”

            “Where is he?”

            “I don’t know.” She told him half truthfully. She had to figure he was on a boat to Orlais by now more than likely.

            “Alright, fine. Tell me one thing though. Where did you encounter our irritable bald mage of misfortune?”

            “I… Can’t tell you that either.”

            Leaning forward onto his desk Varric stared back into her. “Now this I need to know. Hahya is collecting information on his whereabouts. She’s trying to pinpoint his location, but it’s proving difficult. For the sake of her sanity, where did you encounter him?”

            She didn’t want to tell him, but what harm could come to Remi if she told the dwarf about Arlathan? Well, she didn’t have to tell him she _found_ the city itself. “Alright. I was in Arlathan Forest. Solas appeared out of nowhere.”

            “Please don’t tell me you went searching for the city?” He groaned.

            “Maybe, but seeing as I’m right here in front of you that should tell you I didn’t find it.”

            He sighed, “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

            “I’m not dead yet.”

            “Yet,” He scoffed, “You’re playing with fire, kid. Some places aren’t meant to be found.”

            “What’s the point of being there if not to be found?” She smirked, her hands on her hips as she swiveled towards the door. “Please keep in mind contacting Hawke for me. It’s not like she’s going to use the ring.”

            “Hey, Aren,” He called back to her so she turned around at the door. “Did you really see him in the forest near there?”

            “Yes, Varric. I did.” She watched him nod, something was on his mind. “If you’re headed to Orlais... Make a stop at Skyhold, I’ll give you a map before you leave Kirkwall.”

            “What’s at Skyhold now?”

            “A way for me to leave you a message. I’ll send word to Hawke, but I don’t know if it’ll reach her.” She could see he was lying. He knew exactly where Hawke was. “By the time you make it to Skyhold, I should have word for you. If not, just wait. I’ll send them a missive and let them know you’re coming. You’ll be welcome there.”

            “Why help me?”

            “Because I’m curious. If anyone can find the legendary Black Fox’s stronghold, it’s you. So just keep me in the loop. Maybe I’ll make a book about you.” He winked and she blanched at the thought.

            “I’m not any good in person, what makes you think I’ll look good in ink?”

            “You may think my books are shit, my dear, but the awaiting public does not. I can make anyone look good in ink. As long as it’s not a romance.”

            She smiled back his way, “Drinks at the Hanged Man later? Or will you be too busy?”

            “Nah, I’m never too busy for a few drinks at my place.”


	3. Chapter 3

            Getting to Skyhold was no easy feat; why she had agreed to even come here she wasn’t so sure. Hopefully for information about Hawke, but she didn’t really want to meet members of the Inquisition, nor did she really want to confront the Inquisitor in regards to Solas. Varric said he’d sent a message ahead in order to inform Hahya what she had already told him, but still. If what she’d heard about the woman was true, then there was no way she wouldn’t suffer through an interrogation.

            She’d shivered most of the way here, not wanting to use too much magic in order to keep herself warm, and also to keep her magic secret in case eyes were prying. Harvestmere had passed and it was bitterly cold quite early. She appreciated the beauty of the snow falling, but she wasn’t too fond of it when traveling. Especially when traveling through the mountains.

            She was carrying a torch now, having gotten to the village before Skyhold and meandered her way up the path and into the old castle ruins. There weren’t many people around at all, and not many down at the village. No soldiers patrolling. So she really had sent everyone away except for those she could trust.

            She took in a cool breath, struggling to make it across the bridge when the wind was driving her. It was a beautiful view, but she was far too cold to enjoy the scenery as her torch was blown out. Running the rest of the way, she finally made it into the safety of the walls, stone still crumbling in places, but overall the place looked sound.

            As she drew further in she saw a raven fly from up above. It crowed as it flew into the main keep. She drew in a breath, maybe she should rely on her own skills to find Hawke? She wouldn’t have to deal with the remnants of the Inquisition.

            “Aren?” She whipped around to see another elf, barefaced, tanned skin and blue hues. She was a little shorter than she was, brown hair slipped over one shoulder, and she had a strange contraption bound around her arm. “Varric told me you were coming.” Her voice was even, weary; there didn’t seem to be much emotion to her.

            Aren raised her brows, “Iiiinquiiiisiiitor?” She asked slowly and watched the woman nod.

            “Yes. We have much to discuss.” She began to walk toward the stairs that would lead up to the main courtyard.

            “Has Varric sent word about Hawke?” Aren asked before moving.

            “No.” She didn’t stop, only kept walking.

            Groaning she followed slowly behind. How long would she have to succumb to this? Could she borrow a raven and send an angrily worded letter back to Varric? Once they’d made it inside she looked around at the bare interior. Heraldry was long gone, and the halls were empty. It was almost like this place had turned into a ghost town.

            “Things not going well around here?” Aren smarted off and saw Hahya’s steely gaze slink back to her.

            “You’re going to tell me everything.” Hahya stated, and Aren stopped, arms crossed as she glared back at her.

            “Varric already informed you, I’m sure. There’s nothing else I can tell you.”

            “You know more, and I need to know more than that you ran into him in the forests of Arlathan.”

            “That’s what happened though.” Aren said, and Hahya kept her steely stoic gaze locked onto hers.

            “Why were you in the forests?”

            “To search for the city,” Aren shrugged, giving the other woman a sense of nonchalance. If she was bothering her she couldn’t tell. “Obviously I didn’t find it as I’m here, and not stuck there.”

            “What did… _he_ want with you?” She watched Hahya bristle slightly. It had roughly been two years and the woman was still not over her former lover.

            “I don’t know, recruit me for some reason after insulting me?”

            She watched her brows furrow slightly. “I need you to tell me.” Hahya implored, and Aren swallowed hard, seeing the sorrow mixed with desperation in her fellow elf’s eyes. She felt bad for her, but she didn’t know what else she could tell her. “I understand Varric said you are protecting someone, but I can promise you I will not tell anyone.”

            “You’re the Inquisition. You’ll tell your advisors, then words slowly trickles out. I don’t want to risk my friend for this.”

            “He is planning to end our world. I have to change his mind. _Please._ I will not tell anyone. My advisors are gone, and only venture back to relay news. The Inquisition is no more.”

            Aren let out a sigh, looking down the halls. “Fine. I’ll only tell you this in private.”

            Hahya nodded, “Thank you.” She said, and she followed the woman steeled by Silverite further down the hall. They passed an office, and then after a couple more doors they were inside a room. There was a map in the middle on a table, markers stuck into several places. “I’ve been marking the places that he’s been spotted.” She explained, and Aren nodded.

            “He’s been quite a few places it seems.” She remarked and leaned over to look at what was marked. “The Temple of Mythal?”

            “We’ve been there, I drank from the vir’abelasan there.”

            “I’m sorry the what?”

            “The Well of Sorrows.” Hahya translated. “Do you not know basic elvish?” She inquired.

            “Not really. Maybe once,” She scrunched her nose up and shrugged her shoulders. “I wasn’t the best student of anything Dalish.”

            There was a small smirk that appeared on Hahya’s lips and she was surprised. “Neither was I.”

            “That why you got rid of your vallaslin?” She didn’t flinch as she had expected her to, merely stared as if she was staring off into the distance.

            “I never wanted it. It was convenient that he could get rid of the slave markings.”

            “Slave markings?” Aren was intrigued. “Is that what they are?”

            “Yes. The Dalish gods were merely powerful elves. Mages. They enslaved their people, marked their faces…”

            “This what he told you?”

            Hahya narrowed her eyes, “I never believed in any of it anyway.” She sighed, and Aren watched her fiddle with the straps on her left arm. She began to unlatch them, and she watched as she discarded the contraption, seeing she had no arm up to her elbow. She seemed to relax as she sat down, Aren could feel the buzz of magic from the rune imbedded into the prosthetic.

            “Interesting contraption.”

            “It’s come in handy.” Aren couldn’t help but snort when she said that, seeing Hahya shake her head, soft smile at her lips. “You’re a little exhausting. You remind me of a friend.” She stated, and Aren sat on the table.

            “Alright… So where would you like me to start?”

            “Why did he come after you?” She asked.

            Aren took in a deep breath, letting it out as she tapped her hands against her thighs. “Well, Arlathan piqued my interest. I’m sure Varric relayed I’m a thief.”

            “He said adventurer.” Hahya huffed, “I should’ve known better.”

            “Well, when you…” She stopped herself, not wanting to relay much of her past to her. “Never mind. I found the city.”

            “You found it?” Hahya’s tired eyes seemed to widen. “And what did you find?”

            “It was sunken, seemed abandoned. I fell in through a shaft of some sort and made my way through hearing a voice calling for help. I wasn’t sure if it was in my head or not, and yes I know it sounds crazy—”

            “When you start to hear the voice of Mythal, then you can talk to me about crazy.”

            “You hear Mythal?”

            “She’s real too. She stopped speaking for a while, but recently… She’s entered my thoughts. I haven’t been able to decipher much of what she’s said lately.”

            “That’s… awful honestly.”

            “According to him she was the best of them.”

            Aren scoffed, “Of the supposed slave drivers?”

            “Exactly.”

            She chuckled softly, continuing with her tale. “I began to head further in and found this altar, strange rumblings began to occur. I said a phrase over what looked like a tomb and all of a sudden this man came down from the ceiling seemingly out of nowhere. We managed to escape and we were being chased once outside. We managed to make it further away when Solas appeared out of nowhere. He wanted to take my new companion, but I wouldn’t let him. He tried to do something to me, his eyes glowed, but something happened and I emitted some sort of power and passed out.”

            “You’re a mage?” Aren nodded. “He wanted to recruit you too?”

            “I told him no.”

            “What did he want with your friend?”

            “He seems to think both of us thieves. My friend said he didn’t take anything from him. We were both at a loss as he surely knew more about Arlathan than we did.”

            Hahya nodded in agreement, slowly, thinking. “You were able to thwart his power?”

            Aren shrugged and began to walk around, hands on her hips. “I suppose so.”

            “He was probably about to turn you to stone. I watched him do that to a Qunari once.”

            “Well, I guess I can thank whatever it was that helped me out. I didn’t think I was that great of a mage, but… I guess my body knows things I don’t.” Hahya put her hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut until she opened her eyes wide. “You alright?”

            It took her a moment, but she finally answered. “Yes, I’m fine. The voices. It’s nothing.”

            She raised a brow at the Inquisitor, she knew when she was being lied to. She averted her gaze for a moment and Aren crossed her arms. “Are you satisfied?”

            “Pardon?”

            “Am I allowed to leave?”

            “Who’s the man you woke? Was he an elf?”

            “No, he wasn’t. An Orlesian actually.”

            “And why is he important?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Who is he?”

            “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” She said, figuring a way around revealing his identity. “Besides, I don’t believe that’s important. You know what you need to know, yes?”

            “I need to know why he wants this man.”

            “We don’t know.”

            “Then why was he asleep there?”

            The taller elf wandered around the room slowly. “He found the city. They put him to sleep as punishment.”

            “Where is this man now?”

            “I’m going to assume he went back to his country?”

            “You’re not going to tell me?”

            “He left me, so I don’t know what happened to him.”

            Hahya let out a sigh, shaking her head. “When I think I’m closer… I’m always so much further.”

            Aren frowned, watching the woman lean back in her chair. Her elegant demeanor finally looked defeated and Aren felt a little bad for her. “I plan on finding him. If Solas appears before us again I will send word. Is that satisfactory?”

            “I suppose it will have to be.” Hahya said.

            “I really don’t know why he appeared before us. Do you honestly believe he’ll bother with us?”

            Hahya slowly nodded, averting her gaze once more, letting her know she knew more than she was telling her. “Yes. I believe he will.”

            “What aren’t you telling me?”

            “I cannot decipher that just yet.” She told her.

            Aren let out a sigh. “Fine. You have a room for me around here?”

            “Yes, take your pick. There’s a couple rooms above the garden that are vacant.”

 

~~~

 

            Aren left Skyhold with nothing else to show for her time. Hawke was willing to part with the ring, but it was going to be a while, and she wasn’t willing to divulge her whereabouts even with Varric. Or so he had told her.

            She’d ventured away cranky and with nothing, heading out into the abysmal cold. Though Hahya parted with her on one piece of information. Another ball was to be held at The Winter Palace in Halamshiral put on by Empress Celene. Apparently she was trying to root out the rats within her circle to put to rest another betrayal.

            Aren knew for sure that Remi would be there. He would be trying to obtain his ring, and she planned to help him. It’d already been a couple months since they’d parted, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Despite the weary sadness to him, he really was a handsome man. She could see why the stories collared him charming despite his melancholy nature.

            She managed to make it to the Winter Palace, aptly named as it was freezing, snow beginning to fall. She’d told Hahya about how she needed to get in to the party, so she sent a missive along. Celene still favored her for saving her life, and was more than happy to extend an invitation to her or a member of her retinue. One of her advisors, Josephine, had stopped in for a visit in the middle of her stay and offered her a dress and some added head adornments that could hide her ears. Maybe the fallen Inquisition wasn’t so bad after all? They’d certainly helped her thus far.

            She’d wandered around the party, engaging in simple conversations with some of the people, lying her ass off in splendid fashion. She felt as though she wasn’t half bad at all this nonsense, but she didn’t like it here all the same. She hated being amongst people like this, gorging themselves while those without starved. Celene claimed she wanted to help the people, perhaps on some level she had, but this was all too much as always. Who held a ball to find out who was trying to kill them?

            She supposed it was a typical Tuesday for Orlesians. She meandered through the crowd, curtsying as she sipped her wine. Remi was here, she knew it, she need only find him. She scanned the crowds, noticing the lack of elven servants. Humans in their place, and fumbling slightly with their work. She assumed they weren’t used to it in these parts.

            She noticed a group a little further down, three men wearing masks chatting, eyes landing on one in particular. His brown hair was cropped only slightly shorter, cleaned up, but the build was much the same. He seemed to be in his element, telling a fanciful tale that had the other two men laughing. Edging a little nearer she could hear his voice, and she felt her heart beat a little faster. She was excited that she’d finally found him.

            She slipped closer towards him, smirking at men and women who gave her favorable glances her way. If one were to carry themselves with a false sense of entitlement, like she had obtained over the years for such events, then it was easy to blend in as a snooty noble.

            “Monsieur, have we met before?” She said in her best Orlesian accent. Remi’s lips parted at seeing her here. He quickly shook his shock from himself, taking her hand and giving it a quick kiss at her knuckles.

            “I do not believe we have had the pleasure. Come, shall we dance?” He was smooth with his words and his ways, leaving her nodding at his poise. He was different, but she could still see the man she’d met.

            “Only if you’re able to keep up,” She squeaked out and he cleared his throat as he led her to the dance floor.

            “What are you doing here? It is not safe for you. By the way your accent is terrible.”

            “Merci.” She smiled cheekily seeing him trying to hide his smile. “And I’m here despite your abandonment to barter a trade.”

            “A trade?” He quirked a brow, she watched it pop up above his mask.

            “I know who has one of your rings.”

            “You’ve already relayed that Celene and Gaspard have one.”

            She grinned, and she could see him trying to hide his smile again. He dipped her and she popped up closer to him, smelling the cologne on him mixed with his own scent. It filled her senses, a touch of winter moss and bergamot; she rather enjoyed it. “But do you know who gave them the rings?”

            “The late Lady Mantillon.”

            She wrinkled her nose, letting him spin her underneath his arm. “So you’ve done your research then?”

            “Of course.” He smirked.

            “I do know who has another.”

            “Do tell.”

            “Not until you agree to work with me.” She grinned while he let out a sigh.

            “Aren, I left because I wanted to keep you safe. And admittedly…”

            “I am a thief and you don’t trust me?” She chuckled and he frowned. “I’m not offended, I know very well what I am.”

            “You are more than that.”

            “Yet it is a part of who I am,” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I know this, Rem—” She cleared her throat, realizing he might be using a fake name. “Apologies, I never caught your name.”

            He laughed, “Phillipe. For now.”

            “Well, _my Lord_ ,” She put on thick. “What say you?” She leaned in closer to him so she could whisper in his ear. “I  know how to get into her chambers if she’s not wearing it.”

            “Do you now? And how did you come across this information?” He asked, his hand on her waist tightening ever so slightly and she couldn’t deny she liked the pull he had on her.

            “I have friends who know friends.” She grinned again, music halting and so did they. He didn’t let her go, however.

            “Aren, I really don’t want you to get hurt for me. You already saved my life, I do not wish to repay you in death and sorrow.”

            “Everyone dies sooner or later,” She cupped his cheek, unable to look away from those pale green hues. “I thought your eyes were blue?” She said quietly and he pulled her a little closer.

            “Sometimes. Yet sometimes they are green.”

            “Blue for sadness?”

            “Perhaps. Or rain soaked skies.” He breathed, and they were shaken from their state when someone brushed past them. He suddenly smirked at her, “I’m wise to your ways.”

            “You know me so well already.” She chirped and he had to laugh.

            “They are much the same as my own. What do you want in return for your new information?”

            “A new adventure,” She said simply. “What better way to achieve that than with the legendary adventurer himself?”

            “I’m afraid I will not be able to live up to your fanciful idea of me.”

            He offered his arm to her and she took it, walking with him. “I’ve seen touches of the real man. I much prefer real to the legends.”

            Remi couldn’t help but smile as she grinned his way. She looked rather stunning in her gown and he had to wonder where she obtained it. He was no saint, he couldn’t judge, yet he hoped she hadn’t knocked out a noblewoman, stolen it, and left her naked in the forest, though it made him want to laugh all the same.

            They were birds of a feather really, different only in their backgrounds; he was born to fortune, and she had worked her way towards it by whatever means she could. He’d turned into a thief, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, though he had to admit the life of a Lord and noble was never what he really wanted. He couldn’t deny his own selfish desires either; the legends of the Black Fox were fun to hear about. However, Aren was a mystery, and he was still curious about her past; it was the one thing she wasn’t forthcoming about.

            “Have you seen it?” She asked him, and he stirred from his thoughts.

            “Seen what?” He inquired, she slipped her hand over his and tapped a ring on his finger. “Ah, no. She is not wearing mine tonight.”

            “Then shall we explore the grounds?” She grinned his way, pulling him along and he let her take him down a hall. They’d slipped by plenty of guards, he hadn’t lost his touch, and she was rather adept at sneaking as well. Once they were to the correct hall she looked around the corner.

            “There’s a guard in front of her door.” He whispered, and she had that devilish smirk on her lips.

            “I can take care of him.” She said, pulling something from what looked like a pocket in her gown, whispering into her palm and blowing what looked like dust. He watched it waft its way towards the man, and in a moment his eyes glazed over and he fell to the floor.

            “What kind of mage are you?”

            “The normal kind. It’s only a simple spell I learned from a witch in Rivain. Enchanted sleeping powder. Works wonders, yeah?”

            “‘It’s only a simple spell,’” He shook his head, following after her, and he picked the lock into the Empress’s bedroom. He went inside, she followed close behind him, and he held his arm for her to stop.

            “There’s a trap.” He said, kneeling down to disarm the trip wire. “It seems she is a lot smarter than I’ve heard people give her credit for.” He worked on disarming the other traps, the one to her closet seemed to be the most complicated. He had Aren stay near the door and she waited patiently behind for him.

            “She must be fond of her treasures to keep it so well armed.”

            “My rings were more than just simple jewels.” He spoke quietly.

            “Oh?”

            “I shall tell you about that later.” He murmured, finally figuring out the trap she’d set. He rummaged through her closet, finding a box that was warded with a rune. He made his way back to Aren and held it up for her to inspect. “Can you break this?”

            “It’s not the best warding I’ve seen. Not that bad, yet it’s clear Celene is not a mage.” She placed her palm on the box, it shone white for a moment until the symbols reddened then faded. The box popped open and in it held a few treasures. “Is that it?” She asked him, and he grinned, grabbing the trinket and slipping it on a finger.

            “Oui,” He said excitedly, and they both stilled when they heard voices out in the hall.

            “Shit,” She breathed, and he quickly set the box back into the closet. They would know someone had been here, but he didn’t intend for them to be caught. “There.” She pointed, and he followed her towards it, disarming one more trap before pulling the doorway open to the balcony. He quickly closed it behind them, looking down and finding them up quite a ways.

            “I believe we will have to climb down.” He lamented and she gathered her dress in her hands, swinging her legs over the rail.

            “It wouldn’t be my first time.” She told him, and she stepped so she was standing on the other side of it, holding onto the rail for the moment. “We can jump to the one below, then climb down the trellis from there.” He saw her shiver for a moment, snow lightly dusting around them.

            He watched her do this, near perfectly, stumbling only slightly once she landed, and he hurriedly did the same. He hadn’t been prepared to scale walls tonight, but he was no stranger to it either. Once they’d safely found a way down, they snuck their way around until they were back inside. He’d placed the ring safely into a pocket, not wanting anyone to see it just in case eyes were prying. There were a few guards hurriedly passing them by, she squeezed his arm and he chuckled that they seemingly got away with this. They found the coat room to gather their garments, and quickly made their way out.

            He couldn’t help the grin on his face, how could it have been that easy? He finally had one of his rings back, and it’d been a thrill to do it. They were about to head toward the carriages in waiting when he heard someone calling his fake name.

            “Lord Lyon was it?” He swiveled when he heard the man’s voice. “I am Grand Duke Gaspard. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’ve bought an estate near Val Chevin, yes?”

            He could see Aren watching the man, her fingers tightened around his bicep. Clearing his throat, Remi nodded, “Yes, Grand Duke. It was a fortuitous purchase.”

            He nodded, stepping closer towards them. Remi could see his ring glinting off of one of his fingers. “Am I to understand it was home to the Vascals?”

            “Is it now?” He feigned surprise. “I am very fortunate indeed. I thought it merely an abandoned relic in an old town.”

            “Indeed,” Gaspard glanced Aren’s way. “I understand you’re part of the Inquisitor’s retinue, no? She is very private these days since disbanding the Inquisition.”

            “A good way to weed out who may want to kill you.” Gaspard let out a raucous laugh at her quip.

            “We must be going, Grand Duke.” Remi said, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

            “Yes, a pleasure indeed.” He nodded their way, and Remi led her to the carriage, helping her inside.

            Once settled he tossed his mask aside on the seat. They could hear the snow crunch beneath the horses hooves, as well as the wheels, and he thought it a nice reprieve from the bustle of the party. Remi remembered all the reasons why he hated the noble life, why it was so freeing to break from that existence and do what he wanted. He could see the deep blue of Aren’s gaze, lanterns shining dim light into the carriage as they were still on the main road. “Was that your ring?” She asked.

            “Yes, it was. It seems it’ll be a lot more difficult to get that one back.”

            “So what do these rings do?” She asked, leaning forward. He pulled the one he’d just obtained from his pocket, holding it out for her.

            “Care to take a guess?”

            She took it and held it up, not able to see it properly with the waning light. He watched as she conjured up a small fireball that took a little effort. He could feel the crackle of magic in the air; it was familiar to him, and he held back the prejudice as he thought of the woman who betrayed him.

            “It’s special. Certainly not mere jewelry. I believe there’s an enchantment on this?”

            “You would be correct. Some of them bear their own magic.” He said while she handed it back to him. He placed it on a finger once more, leaning back and watched her shift her gown so she could cross her legs. He shook his head, “I cannot believe you found me.”

            “It wasn’t very hard to figure out your next move.” She smiled his way and he couldn’t help but smile with her. It was refreshing to see her again, honestly. She brought him back to life, and there was no way he could repay her. He still didn’t know if it was worth being back, but he was back nonetheless. He wasn’t too keen on returning to an endless prison, not knowing what the afterlife held.

            “I don’t know, I wasn’t myself. I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

            “Part of you was. A different part.” She extinguished the bit of fire and he was left to adjust to the darkness. “Remi… are you okay?”

            “Hm? Yes. I’m fine. Why?”

            “It’s only been a couple months. You can talk to me about that, you know?”

            He swallowed, taking in a deep breath. “You would be the only one who’d understand…”

            “That’s why you shouldn’t have left,” She let out a chuckle while he felt her fingers tap his knee, and he found he wanted her touch, wanted to feel it in more ways than one. He could feel the stirrings of feelings, feelings he wanted to bury. The last time that happened he’d been deceived, given to a year of torture.

            “I really do want to keep you safe, Aren. I’ve…” He had to swallow again, wiped his hand over his mouth. “I don’t want any more friends to die because of me.” He felt her hands on his hand, smoothing her fingers over his palm and the back. He could see the shadow of her in the dark, some light on her face from the small window.

            “I don’t think my fate is up to you, Remi.” Her fingers slipped from his hand and he took in a breath, his skin on fire. He wouldn’t believe the snow to be falling outside with how hot he felt.

            “Lord Lyon, we’ve arrived.” The carriage driver called.

            “So where have you whisked me away to?”

            “I was staying at a fancy inn. You’re welcome to join. I do owe you a decent night’s rest after all.”

            “You forget, Lord Vascal,” Her voice was low, “I didn’t pay for that room.”

            He let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I paid for this one. You might as well enjoy it.”

            Once inside his room, he discarded his coat and watched as she looked around. It was a nice room, one extremely comfortable bed, and a bevy of other amenities. Food had been delivered and he saw her pick a grape from one of the bushels.

            “How did you come across so much money so fast?” She asked. “Is there some secret I need to know?”

            He removed his boots, setting them next to the door; when she turned to him he knew he was grinning. “Would you believe the bonds I hid were still in their place?”

            She gasped into a laugh, face lighting up. “Over fifty years?”

            “Indeed, worth quite a pretty sum now,” He chuckled. “I buried an enchanted box near a knobby tree on my old estate, which was empty before I purchased it back. I placed plenty of bonds and important jewels in that box. I was lucky I did this before my imprisonment. A bad feeling I suppose.” He told her.

            “You’re a lucky fox,” She smiled. “Well, I’m afraid my temporary place of residence is across town and not as fancy.”

            “I already said you could stay here.”

            “I have none of my things.” She said, and he felt his heart skip a beat, but he tried to keep his cool. He opened the drawer and grabbed a tunic, tossing it her way. “What is it with men and seeing women in men’s clothing? All of you get so eager and worked up.” She smirked his way, and he couldn’t deny he was one of those men, but he scoffed in order to hide it.

            “You expect me to have a stash of women’s clothes lying around? Your normal clothes could pass for a man’s anyhow.”

            “You’re not wrong,” She said, heading for the washroom. He poured some wine, drinking, still elated that he was able to gain a ring back so easily. He was able to outsmart Celene, old tricks were what he was best at. However, Gaspard was certainly not as crafty, preferring to keep his valuables close. Too close.

            “Aren, you said you knew the location of another ring?”

            “I did,” She stepped out of the washroom and he stared a moment. She did look good in his clothes long legs nearly on full display. His gaze moved up as he saw her ears for the first time. One really was half missing like that elf had said. Severed by a knife no doubt, jagged edges conveying one not so sharp. He watched her face as she caught his gaze, he hoped she hadn’t noticed him eying her features too hard. “I’m debating on whether or not to reveal that to you. The last time I did you left me.” She moved towards him, plucking his glass from his hand to take a sip herself. There was a playfulness in her eyes, nothing seemed to bother her too deeply, yet he knew there were things she wasn’t willing to reveal, just as he.

            “I swear to you, that shall not happen again. Besides, I’m sure you’d wake up this time, there’s too much to move.”

            She laughed, drinking more, and he watched the steady rise and fall of her throat as she swallowed the liquid. “Well,” She handed the empty glass back to him and he filled it and another, handing her one. “Have you heard of the Champion of Kirkwall?”

            “A lot of fanciful tales,” He drank. “Most as absurd as mine.”

            “I know from a very good source that most of them are real.”

            “I’m not certain I can believe you,” He slowly smiled.

            “Well, she has one. She found the one you stashed near Kirkwall.” She told him and he frowned a moment.

            “I don’t recall stashing anything near Kirkwall.”

            “Then how’d it get there?” She inquired and he could only shrug.

            “A mystery I suppose. Did these tales say I was there?”

            “Of course,” She sipped her wine, “That’s how I found out its whereabouts.”

            “My rings were taken from me when I was imprisoned.” He said, feeling far away as he recalled those memories. “Betrayed by… That’s not important. I was only able to get three of them back before I left that Maker forsaken hell hole. The others were gone. My jailors did not realize they were more valuable as a set I suppose. I did not tell them anything.”

            “Do they really open your stronghold?” She asked, and he nodded.

            “Yes. Do you plan on stealing them when this is over so you can go there yourself?”

            She shook her head, brows popping up playfully. “No. However, you’re too smart, no one knows where it’s located. I highly doubt you’ll tell me anyway.”

            He smirked, watching as she sat on the bed, wine in hand and a piece of bread she’d smeared with a soft cheese moments before. He did the same, taking a bite before he went to the washroom to rid himself of the restricting fashion, putting on a more comfortable pair of pants and a tunic. He usually slept without a night shirt, always getting too hot even in the winter months, but he didn’t want her to see the lash marks lining his back.

            She was lying back comfortably on the plush pillow, wine glass in her hand as she stared dreamily out of the windows. She was stunning all dolled up, but now, barefaced and relaxed, he found he much preferred this version of her. He sat on the edge of the bed, one leg half on as he turned to look out at the snow falling.

            “It’s pretty,” She complimented, “But far too cold,” She shivered which caused him to chuckle.

            “You’re not built for the chilling weather I see.”

            “Absolutely not.” She let out a sigh, wine coloring her dreamy expression as she smiled. “Mm, this is some good wine. Stronger than what I’m used to.”

            “Orlesians like to get drunk quickly, yet make it seem fancier.” He watched the rise of her chest as she chuckled and he had to tear his wine riddled gaze from her lest he fall into old habits; a tentative touch to see if the feeling was mutual, followed by more if she was willing. He let out his own sigh, trying not to let his imagination get the better of him.

            He wanted her, but he was hesitant. He hadn’t felt that hesitation before. It was so easy to fall into bed with a pretty woman that caught his gaze. Now that he was already in bed with one, it should’ve been easier. Yet the last time he fell into bed with a business partner, a _friend_ , it ended horribly. Some bitter part of him wished he’d let her come along with them on their useless journey that way she would have suffered the same fate as them, but he’d cast her away at her request to come along, still begging for his forgiveness.

            “You’re thinking.” She murmured. “Need to talk?”

            He shook his head, “It is nothing important.” She stared at him a beat longer, weariness already becoming her. She didn’t ask again and he was grateful, she more than likely forgot. “Aren… Thank you.”

            “Hm… For what?”

            “Finding me again…”

            She turned onto her side to face the window, a grin at her lips before he could only see her back. “You missed me.” She let out a soft giggle and he couldn’t help but smile.

            “I did…”


	4. Chapter 4

            When Remi woke in the morning he felt something at his back, having to remember that he’d fallen asleep in bed next to Aren the previous night. She was wedged up against him, her body cold and thus cooling his own heated form. He wanted to turn over, pull her closer, feel his lips against hers, but he resisted those thoughts. They were partners now, they shouldn’t engage in these matters no matter how hypocritical he was being since he’d engaged in such affairs in the past.

            “Aren?” He asked, hearing a groan leave her as she eased closer to him.

            “Mm, little longer,” her voice was raspy, “I’m cold.” He let out a chuckle, trying to ease the tension in his groin at having her so close. “Sorry…” She muttered.

            “Mon plaisir,” He said.

            “Mm, that sounds so much better despite it being Orlesian.”

            “Does it now?” He stretched a bit while feeling her fingers clench his shirt a little tighter.

            “The way you say my name is nicer than the Dalish…” She muttered.

            “Do you not know your language?” He asked curiously.

            “Bits… Not much. Not enough to care.” She let out a sigh, finally slipping from the warmth of the bed to get up. He glanced over his shoulder seeing his tunic slide up her thighs as she stretched. He looked away and when she walked around the bed to head towards the washroom he could see her smirking.

            He blew out a sigh as he laid on his back; he could see she knew exactly what she was doing. Did she feel something for him too? He rolled his eyes at his thoughts, but he couldn’t lie to himself that he hadn’t been thinking of her since he was awakened. He didn’t know her intentions; did she really only want adventure? Treasure? He was uncertain regarding her aims, but he knew one thing. She did save him. Twice. The only thing she’d asked for was adventure in return.

            “So what’s our next move?” She asked as she came out of the washroom tying her hair up on her head. She took the sash that had been on her dress and wrapped it around her ears to hide them in her usual way.

            “I was going to head back to my estate. It needs some work and I need to hire people to take care of fixing it.” He got up, passing her by. “As far as the rings go… I’m afraid I have not thought up a sound strategy for Gaspard just yet.”

            He went into the washroom and cleaned himself up, dressing in a pair of pants and a tunic. Once he’d dressed in his basic layer he left to see her standing at the window looking outside. He could barely make out the bustle of people already out and about from this angle, but he could hear them.

            “There aren’t many elves around…” She remarked quietly. “They believe him…”

            “Pardon?” He asked and she shook herself from her thoughts.

            “Do you happen to have spare armor on hand? Or anything really?”

            He nodded, opening another drawer to pull out some pants and a leather jacket. “It might be a bit big but it should do till we gather your things.”

            “Thank you.” She said and he gathered his belongings to put them in a pack, then finished putting on his own light leathers. When they’d finished gathering their things and had eaten a hearty breakfast, they were off on horseback, crossing the town to the other inn in order for her to gather her own possessions.

            They’d begun to talk about the rings again, and it had occurred to Remi that he was pretty sure he knew the possible location of another ring. No, he was sure of that one. The ring that sat upon his ring finger had been taken before his betrayal.

            Servana de Montfort had one in her possession he was certain of it. Everything had happened so fast upon his capture, but one ring had been missing before it happened. She had to have taken it, pleaded for his forgiveness when she joined his crew to rescue him. She said how much she loved him, always had loved him, never wishing to be parted from him. She took that ring. He knew it had to have been her.

            The problem was… How was he to find it? Fifty years had passed, she’d be well into her late seventies by now. Was she even alive? He hadn’t a chance to ask around about that, but he knew he had to see if her family still held an estate. She was a mage, but her noble family had been able to hide it quite well for a price. If anything it would be a lead to that missing ring, leaving them with a clue for all the rings but a few. Though he was hoping that Lady Mantillon’s family had the rest.

            Looking at Aren, he was glad that she had found him. He really could use the help. He couldn’t deny there was something about her that led him to trust her despite his better judgment.

 

~~~

 

            Wisps seemed to lay their touch upon her. She could feel the soft caress down her cheek, cupping her face gently. She couldn’t see anything in this dream world yet whispers fought around her to gain her attention. She was in the dark, only able to feel, the void was strong around her.

            _Ir Ghil-Dirthalen_ , it touched her ears and somehow she understood. But why? She was no good at the language, had never particularly cared, yet she knew what it said; roughly ‘I am one who guides seekers of knowledge true.’

            It was unnerving, she felt out of place, why was some Dalish spirit seeking her out in her dreams? They’d never come to her in this manner before, though admittedly she remembered in her youth a suspicious nudge here and there. Strangely it was silent when she could’ve used them the most, tortured, only able to escape by will of her own. She could still see their blood; it stained her hands, mixing with her own. The sheer horror she’d left. Children had been screaming, but she didn’t care. No one stopped what happened to her. So why should she have stopped?

            _Ir abelas._ A stronger voice whispered. _Ma melava halani. Ma serannas. Mala suledin nadas. Na melana sahlin. Telanadas._

            She woke with a start, Remi’s familiar scent invading her senses, the same iced moss and bergamot she’d smelled on him upon reuniting. She’d smelled it before, long before last night. Had it lingered on his person when she’d found him? No, it couldn’t be, they’d fallen in the water. Perhaps before that?

            The steady gait of the horse they’d been riding had lulled her to sleep. She’d never been one for riding horses, nor Halla, and preferred to walk. If she was honest with herself she was absolute rubbish at being able to ride and control the animal enough to get it to do what she wanted. They’d solved that problem by having her ride behind him, eventually she had nodded off, and she found her face buried into his shoulder, his hair softly brushing her cheek as she woke.

            He was tense, she hadn’t remembered him being tense when she’d fallen asleep. “Sorry,” She mumbled. “I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

            “It’s… Fine.”

            “What’s wrong?” She asked groggily, trying to make sense of the things she heard while asleep. She’d had a strange dream the previous night. When she had blacked out upon Solas discovering them she remembered whisperings touching her senses, but she couldn’t make out what they had said. She wondered, briefly, if Remi had something to do with it. She’d heard his voice as if it was in her head, calling out to her for help before she’d discovered him, but something else had been in that plea. Something hidden and more quiet. Now more dreams and whispers when she had found him again?

            “You said… You said some things… They sounded familiar.”

            “I was talking in my sleep?”

            “Yes,” He nodded. “Something like… Ir abelas? And I think it was… mala sule… din nadas? I thought you said you did not know elvish very well? You sounded quite fluent…”

            She swallowed hard, wondering why she was able to pick pieces of the language out; she had been honest with him about not knowing much. She really hadn’t known the language well at all. Especially not enough to pick out phrases. “I don’t… Or didn’t… I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I think the first one is I’m sorry… I said that enough as a child…” She trailed off, not wanting to relive her bleak past. “The other…” She had to think hard, she remembered it in her dream. “Mala suledin nadas… Now you must endure.”

            “I don’t remember where I heard it before,” Remi whispered and she took in a breath.

            “Neither do I…” They were quiet for a while until they’d reached a port to catch a ship heading to Val Royeaux. From there they’d travel to his rundown estate. He wanted to get some things in order to start repairs on it.

            She was still unnerved, more so than she had been in a while. This was strange, and she wondered… She wondered if she should head back to Skyhold and have a chat with Hahya about this. Was it possible she stumbled upon her own Well of some sort in Arlathan? Were the voices similar?

            “Aren, are you alright?” Remi asked and she shook herself as they set their bags down in the room he’d secured for them. It would take the better part of the night to make it there, so he made sure they were comfortable.

            “Yes, I’m fine,” She finally answered him lingering on how much she liked to hear him say her name. “I keep thinking about… Arlathan.”

            “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about it too. The last thing I remember was… My best friend dying. He’d been wounded, once we made it inside he hadn’t lasted much longer,” His voice was quiet, wavering slightly. “But after that… I don’t remember what happened to me.” She looked down at the floor. “Do you?” Her eyes shot straight to his.

            “How would I know?”

            He shook his head, “I don’t know why I asked that.” She was at a loss herself.

            It took her awhile to fall asleep, but finally she’d dozed off until the wee hours of the morning when they’d docked. She hadn’t dreamed again, but she still felt the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. She worried, as often mages did, that perhaps a spirit had latched onto her. There was much she didn’t know about the fade, preferring to stay as far away as she could, only using magic when she needed to, but sometimes she’d forget, reach into the fade to cast it, then remembered why she preferred not to use it. These feelings, feelings of wisps lingering, attaching themselves to her longer than she’d like.

            That must’ve been why she felt so uneasy. That’s what she was going with for the time being. It wasn’t long before they’d ridden from Val Royeaux and into a small town on the outskirts of Val Chevin. Remi was pushing their horse a little faster, hoping to reach the estate before midday.

            They’d come upon a small village, he told her he needed to speak with a few individuals first and that he’d be right back. She watched the people milling about, there was a cart full of lumber waiting to be transported. Some offered her stares, wondering who she could be. Did she look dangerous? She never really thought she did, but she could be quite harsh looking when she was deep in thought.

            Remi exited the building and she found herself smiling at seeing him again, though she felt like a fool, tried to smother the butterflies she was beginning to feel at his presence. It was foreign, she didn’t know if she should welcome these feelings, but mostly she was afraid to let them fly.

            She leaned back to let him hop back up on the horse, promptly wrapping her arms around his chest to hold on. “I should be able to get workers started on the estate tomorrow morning.” He said. “Hopefully the villagers appreciate the coin and work.”

            “Is it worth rebuilding?” She asked, listening for his answer but he’d grown quiet. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in that way. I’ve never had what I’d call a home. Sometimes I just don’t understand its meaning.”

            “It’s not that. I was pondering your question. On some level it is not worth rebuilding… Honestly I don’t know why I care so much about doing so… Maybe… I only need something familiar, and it takes me back to a time when I was actually proud of who I was. In my later years, it was hard to find pride in what I did.”

            “You became a thief and gave to the poor. You even robbed yourself and gave it away. I’d say you should be proud of what you gave to people who didn’t have much.” She heard his soft chuckle, felt it travel softly to her own body being so close.

            He was quiet again until she felt his hand on hers at his chest. “Thank you…” He said, slowly letting his hand rest back upon the reigns.

            The horse galloped its way down a path, finally she could see a rundown estate in front of them. She could try to imagine what it looked like before, but she never felt very imaginative, she couldn’t see the beauty it once had, but she saw the beauty of broken down ruins. She always liked the look of old places.

            “It is not much. But it is home.” He said, leading their ride towards the broken down stables. She hopped down and looked it over. Weather had torn it apart in fifty years’ time. Anything of worth was probably stripped from it long ago, probably when he was imprisoned, and part of the roof was missing on one side of the house.

            “Have you been inside yet?”

            “No, I had not been able to let myself go in.” He answered.

            “Would you like me to wait out here?”

            “No, no that’s not necessary, Aren.” He responded and she followed after him once he went inside. She stopped in the foyer, however, as he went down the hall and straight for the stairs. She knew he needed time to himself if this was the first time he’d been back in here. She wandered around, the ceiling and walls had holes in them, most of it had fallen in spots, perhaps wind had blown most of the wreckage away. She could hear the slow beat of his footsteps above her, old floors creaking under the new weight. She hoped this place wasn’t going to fall apart even further on them.

            When she heard his footsteps no longer, heard nothing from upstairs, she made her way down the hall and up the stairs. She slowly stepped down the corridor looking into rooms. One wing of the estate seemed as if it was in decent condition, but this side seemed to have borne the brunt of fifty years of neglect. The roof needed repair, the rooms were barren save for dirt and debris, and she stopped at the stripped frame of one room.

            A broken down bed, remnants of a mattress. There was no window any longer, and she shivered at the chilly breeze. She saw Remi sitting on the floor, something was in his hands; when she moved closer she could see what it was. A fox mask, faded from its blackened color. A pattern that had adorned it had long since faded away as well.

            She sat down next to him, touching his shoulder with hers. “It really did mean a lot to you.”

            “Hm?” He hummed softly, eyes still staring at the empty mask, thumb sliding slowly along the bottom till he made it to a chip.

            “Being the Black Fox.”

            “I’d be lying to you if I told you I did it because it helped people. I also enjoyed the notoriety, the fame. Most of all… was the people that it brought me. Honest, good people.” She listened to his voice lower, guilt wrapping around it. “I’d never known true friends until them.” She wrapped her arms around his arm and eased into him. He gave her a questioning look.

            “Shh, I’m cold,” She scrunched her nose up at him. “Tell me about them.”

            “I don’t… I don’t know…”

            “I’ve never known true friends as companions…” She listened to him take a deep breath.

            “The first was Karolis. He tried to kill me several times.”

            She laughed a little and saw the fond smile on his lips. “Assassin?” She asked.

            “No, bounty hunter. And a damn good one. He almost got me on several occasions, but I managed to escape him. I was wily at most times, mocking in others. He became so angry once he nearly chopped a tree in half in one swing of his axe.” She listened to the somber rumble of his laugh. “When I finally bested him I let him go. He was surprised. Then I offered him a chance to join me in my quests.”

            “How well did that go?”

            “He was not particularly amused? However, we found we had much in common when I patched up the shoulder I shot an arrow into. We became fast friends… and he was like the brother I never had.”

            “I don’t know what you’re going through, Remi, but I know it hurts you. It’s so easy to blame yourself… but it wasn’t as if you intended for anything bad to happen to them.” She heard him sigh, no doubt about to ravage himself for his mistakes. She set her chin to his shoulder and looked at him. “Those blue eyes again.” She said and he turned to face her.

            There was a moment she wasn’t sure what might happen. Denying that she didn’t want what she was thinking might happen would do her no good. There was something about him, something that seemed more familiar than it should have. She didn’t know what that feeling was, or what she was feeling for him, something she’d never felt before. Lust was easy, it was quick and easily sated. She’d never thought of those flings as anything more than a passing thought, but Remi… she wanted to be with him, but she couldn’t even bring herself to make that move that was always so easy to do.

            Handsome man? So simple to give him all the signs. She kept trying to deny it, just cold, or only being friendly, but all of it was lies and she knew she was probably being more than obvious. She was so lost in the sorrow of those hues, wanted to comfort him, but the thought of feeling something more than lust scared her. She closed her eyes a moment, thinking for a second maybe he’d just take hint and move his lips closer to hers, but they heard a voice calling out for someone. She moved away from him, standing and followed after him when he moved for the stairs.

            “Hellooo? Anyone home?” The voice called, it sounded like a man’s though high pitched and somewhat tart.

            “Expecting someone?” Aren asked and Remi shook his head.

            “No, no one at all.”

            Once they made it down to the entrance to the home a man was standing there, excitement becoming him at finding people here.

            “Oh!! Are you Lord Lyon?” He asked, and Aren noticed he looked like a messenger. A very high end one.

            “Ah, oui. Is there something I can help you with?”

            “I’m here to deliver a missive from Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons! He formerly requests your presence at his estate.” He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Remi. “He’d be delighted if you could attend this meeting.”

            “I see.” He stared at the envelope and the messenger turned her way. “Are you the woman who was with Lord Lyon last night?”

            She glanced Remi’s way, not sure how she should answer that. She didn’t want to ruin the reputation he was trying to build. He nodded to the man. “Yes, she was my companion at the ball.”

            “Splendid! He would love it if she could attend as well!” He said excitedly.

            Aren raised a brow, “would he now?”

            “Oh yes! He’d also love to meet you properly!” A few more excited words later and the man was heading back to his horse and riding off. When they were alone again she watched Remi’s brow furrow as he looked over the letter.

            He was silent for a moment too long and she raised her brows. “Something the matter?”

            “I’m not understanding why he would call on me. On us. Would he care enough that a new face was at a ball, one where his cousin’s ring was stolen if they found out?”

            “You think he would worry on Celene’s behalf? From what I’ve heard they’re still not on very good terms.”

            He let out a sigh, running his hand through his wavy hair. “Je ne sais pas…” He muttered and she actually understood that phrase, as it was her most used when shrugging off Orlesians when she was in Orlais.

            She watched as he looked at his hands, squeezing them into fists. “I should not have worn them last night.” He berated himself. “I did not believe in this day and age anyone would still care about my stronghold.”

            “You think he does?” She wondered.

            “Perhaps. It makes me nervous.”

            “Well, I’ll be there with you. I can get you out of danger.” She tried to ease his worries and he relaxed only slightly. “Maybe since you bought this place he’s curious if you’ve found any memorabilia? Perhaps he’s a fan?”

            He snorted, shaking his head, “A noble as a fan? If only it could be that simple.”

 

~~~

 

            Remi still felt uneasy as they entered Verchiel. They’d decided it was best to sneak past the guards at the gates, take Gaspard by surprise that his gate’s men had not come to him about the newcomers, keep him guessing. It had been a few days before they’d accepted his invitation, and now that they were here he was still anxious. His bravado from his past still hadn’t fully returned. He was nevertheless unsure of how to handle the people here. New rulers, new nobles, all playing by the base of the game, but taking it to a new level. It was almost like Antiva now with how many people in power were dropping like flies in Orlais.

            “Is it me… Or does he have a lot more soldiers around than he should?” Aren asked him as they’d assimilated into the crowd.

            He had certainly noticed them, it was as if Gaspard was building an army bigger than what he should have. “I noticed it too. I know I do not know everything going on in this time, but weren’t he and Celene supposed to be ruling jointly?”

            “Supposedly.” She muttered, and he continued ahead to Gaspard’s estate. “Shall we scale the walls?”

            “No, we’ll go in through the front door. At this time it’s best we reveal ourselves. We wouldn’t want to be too suspicious.”

            His palace was grand of course, servants everywhere, though not so many elves as Aren had continually noted. There was much more Gaspard could be using his coin for than making his home more grand. He noticed all the hallways, took note of the stairs and the direction they were being led. This would’ve been a fun place to slip into and steal from. He glanced to Aren, she had been observing as well. Good, he thought, she would know her way around should the need arise.

            They were led to a small office towards the end of a hallway, one way in and one way out. It was particularly unsettling, but he felt confident having Aren with him, glad that she’d agreed to come along.

            Gaspard had formally greeted them, putting it on thick in typical Orlesian fashion. Remi had dealt with many men and women just like him back in his day. They spoke amiably regarding politics for a bit, until the man decided pleasantries were over and turned their conversation.

            “So what happened to your rings?” Gaspard asked and Remi played it cool.

            “My rings?” After realizing his mistake at the ball he didn’t need someone who already had one of his possessions eying the ones he still kept. He hid them safely back at the estate, sealed in his box and tucked away where they wouldn’t be found. Although he felt a slight degree more helpless without them he was confident in his own skills to keep any would be attackers at bay if need be.

            “I distinctly remember three rings upon your fingers the night of Celene’s party. They were peculiar, I noted. They looked of similar style to my own ring. A ring that belonged to the Black Fox himself.”

            “I assure you my rings are nothing more than trinkets, mere accessories.” Remi told him and saw the slide of Gaspard’s eyes move to Aren who was standing behind him. He already observed how the guard had been watching her closely.

            “I beg to differ, my good man. Especially when you now inhabit the Black Fox’s old estate. Maybe something was hidden. You found them.”

            “I’ve had these rings since I attended my first gala. My mother said they were perfect accessories for the best of occasions.”

            “Why have I never heard of you before, Lord Lyon?” Gaspard asked, and Remi could see him trying to intimidate him, scare him, catch him off guard with one simple twitch. Remi was too seasoned for that, and even though it’d been a while he hadn’t lost the edge to speak with nobles.

            “I’ve been living in Starkhaven for a while. A bit in Antiva. I was a traveling merchant.” He lied smoothly, easily waltzing back into the groove.

            “And what of your lover? I never saw her with the Inquisition a few years ago, I would’ve noticed someone of her stature, now suddenly she is one of its trusted members?”

            “Phillipe and I are business partners. I was acquainted with Varric Tethras long ago, and he suggested it would be mutually beneficial to help the Inquisition’s remaining members. We,” She gestured to himself, “met on a stay in Antiva where I suggested he broaden his business and venture back home. Orlais could use the benefit of his knowledge, certainly in these times.” He listened to the ease of Aren’s lie, though parts of it were somewhat true. It was brilliant really, and he tucked all those pieces away to be used if he was questioned again.

            Gaspard was silent for a moment until his lips curled to a smirk. “Tell me now… is it a habit for you to keep company with mages?” Remi felt his body tense when he heard the rustling of a noise, looking back in time to see Gaspard’s man slamming Aren against the wall, hand at her throat as he pinned her back to the door. In an instant Remi had pulled out his dagger from his boot and settled it neatly against the man’s throat from behind him.

            “What is the meaning of this?” Remi growled back at Gaspard who was still casually seated in his chair. He looked back and saw Aren smirking at the man, then she eased her eyes to his, not worried in the slightest. It caused him to relax only for a moment, he had to remember that Aren was fully capable of handling herself, of which he’d seen multiple times before.

            “Take a step back, Phillipe, or I’ll let my templar have a little fun.” Remi stood rigid, but when Aren gave him a reassuring look he settled down once again, easing away from the templar.

            “Do you have a habit of detaining your guests, _Gaspard_ ,” Remi slighted him, biting on his words. He was angry, though he expected nothing less from what he’d heard so far about the man.

            “Only when they’re lying to me. You see, these rings hold special powers. It was quite fortuitous that Celene’s ring was stolen last night, and that two new faces were at her ball; leaving shortly after said item was taken. She is now one bit more helpless in her defense, and I am at an advantage.”

            “Why tell me this?”

            “Because you will give me those rings, so that I may be the true, and rightful ruler to Orlais, or else you will never see your lover ag—” Gaspard trailed off and Remi heard the slump and crash of armor as it hit the floor, immediately looking back and seeing Aren shrug as the templar lay crumbled at her feet.

            “Oops.” She walked towards Gaspard’s desk and he only looked mildly worried. “He looked into my eyes a little too long, it sometimes happens to templars who are… Inadequate.” She smirked and Remi watched with interest. “So your ring is special is it?” Her voice had the silkiest, saccharine tint to it, and he was more impressed by her ways the more time he spent with her. “Can I see it?”

            “You will back away from me this instant.” Gaspard said threateningly. “You may be able to dispatch one templar but an army?”

            She scoffed lightly, sitting down on the edge of his desk. “You don’t have that many. I already know this.”

            Remi was tense, not sure what Gaspard had planned to do, but he was beginning to finger the ring and Remi quickly lunged for Aren, taking her down to the floor as a crackle of energy burst forth, the sound of the desk breaking and glass bursting from the window reverberated around them and he covered her to keep her safe.

            He lifted to see her face, eyes closed, dreamlike look upon her features. She began to mutter and when he finally made out some of her words he stilled above her. “Ma melava halani…” She mumbled. Her eyes fluttered open and he saw something different, her hand cupping his cheek. “Lathbora viran…”

            “Aren?” He spoke her name, and when shouts reached their ears from the hallway she seemed to come back to him. Her eyes showed recognition, her brows eased up in confusion.

            “What did he do?”

            He got up from her, helping her to her feet. “The bastard used my ring.” He narrowed his eyes, easing over towards the half opened door to peer around the jamb. Soldiers were lining up.

            “I suggest you surrender yourselves. It will make this all that much easier.” He heard Gaspard’s voice filter down the hallway.

            “You attacked us, Grand Duke. This altercation is no one’s fault but your own.” Remi shouted back and he saw Aren head towards the window to look out before she quickly recoiled when an arrow lodged into its frame.

            “There’s no way out for you.”

            “I will have you persecuted for this affront.” Remi threatened, beginning to hear the cackle of Gaspard’s response.

            “I am Grand Duke, part ruler to Orlais, you are but a simple Lord if that is even true, which I believe is not. Your only option is to side with me if you choose for you and your lover to live.”

            “Do I even get a name in all this?” He heard Aren grumble while she was examining the floor with her eyes.

            “That’s not very honorable,” Remi retorted and that remark had awarded him silence.

            He looked at Aren again, she was now feeling at the floor before she caught his eyes. “They won’t expect this.”

            “Expect what? Should I be worried?”

            She shook her head and he moved closer to her, crouching down beside her as she was. He trusted her. “All of his soldiers must be beside him. Or we can hope anyway. He thinks we’re cornered so… Brace yourself,” She offered up a smile as she warned him, her focus shifting to the floor as she let a blast of energy go, tearing a hole right beneath their feet. He felt her grab onto him, a cooling tingle of a safe barrier surrounded him, and they crashed to the first floor below.

            Everything happened so quickly, they were running as fast as they could through the hallways, servants letting out screams, and raucous shouting echoing above and behind them, stomping footsteps bouncing above them, while they made their way past.

            “This way,” Remi pulled her in another direction. He could smell food, which meant a kitchen should be nearby; it also meant a back door possibly free of guards, at least for the moment. He’d made plenty of escapes in the past via this method.

            Sure enough they were stumbling through the kitchen moments later, out the back door, and as luck would have it the wall surrounding his palace that connected to part of the city was nearby. A cunning and fortuitous fox he was. Luck seemed to be finding its way back to him in this new lifetime now. It was elaborately decorated, he shouldn’t be surprised to observe, with extravagant vines and trellises, easy for them to climb up and out of the city. It allowed them to slip from danger’s clutches and easy access to a forest nearby. They’d have to travel around only slightly to get back to his horse they’d left in the village before coming here, but that would be a simple enough task to accomplish.

            “That went as expected,” Remi caught his breath when they’d finally stopped running through the forest.

            “You were right,” She agreed. “We won’t be getting that ring so easily.”

            “You were also right.”

            “Hm?”

            “You said not to worry since you would be there. I’m glad that you were accompanying me. Not only for your quick wit, but you’re quite a powerful mage. I had my doubts considering…” He shook his thoughts from Servana. “I’ve never seen a mage who didn’t use a staff regularly.” He saw her look at her hands.

            “Staffs and weaponry are channels for the magic. I favor pole arms when I have them, however they’re a crutch. I can use them, but I prefer to not even use my powers. It gets me in more trouble than it’s worth.”

            “Were you ever taken by templars?” He asked, she shook her head no.

            “I was fortunate to mostly avoid them. However I had a few run ins with strays, mostly within the last five years. Some still like to assert their dominance, thinking they’re special when they sense a mage is near. Though I have also met a few good ones. They’re not all bad. Most confused, lost, scared. The ones that attacked me were hungry for lyrium, thinking I had some on me.” She looked saddened. “Almost feral. Tragic really. Your chantry is an ugly thing.”

            He snorted ungracefully, “It is not my chantry. I did not go to any of them. I do not worship what they told me to. Faith need not be practiced in a house of worship. Faith is within your person.”

            “Do you believe in your Maker?” She asked and he had to think a moment. Did he? It was hopeful to believe there was something out there, but with things as horrible as the blights he’d read about it didn’t seem right. Why would a benevolent being stand by when creatures like Darkspawn roamed the Deep Roads, then walked Thedas during blights?

            “I want to believe…” He finally responded.

            “But you have doubts? Doubt is good.”

            “Why is that?”

            “It means you’ll be pleasantly surprised if it turns out to be true.” She gave him a smile and he smiled with her.

            “I suppose you’re right.” He said. “Aren, answer me honestly…”

            “You say that as if I’ve been lying to you,” She chuckled, and he watched his feet sifting through the grass.

            “You said you don’t know elvish very well… Yet you spoke it once more.”

            “When?” She arched a brow.

            “Do you not remember?” When she shook her head he explained. “Back in Gaspard’s office, after he used my ring. I suppose the blast or something rattled you before I knocked you down. For a moment you were speaking in your elven tongue.” She looked shocked for a moment, before she covered it with indifference.

            “I suppose some of the teachings are rooting their way back into my mind…” She said, but there was a brief look of concern.

            “I once loved a woman, a mage, and she betrayed me. For that I earned a year and more of torture. I was stripped of everything I knew, my friends. I trust you, Aren, but I do not want the small nagging part of me to be right again.”

            Her brows furrowed as she stopped in her tracks. “You think I would betray you?”

            “Will you?”

            “For what? To what end? _Why_?”

            “My rings, my stronghold. Everyone is out for themselves in this time, why should you be any different?” He suddenly said, heated, bad memories erupting to the front of his thoughts.

            She stepped closer to him, he stayed his ground. She was nearly his height, but looked even taller with the look she gave him. “I could have let you die. I could have given you to Solas. I didn’t.”

            “Then why did you find me?” He grabbed her before she could walk away from him, turning her to face him again. “To what end?” He could see her swallow. “Be honest with me, Aren. I want you by my side, but you are much stronger than I. I would be a fool to let a wolf trick me again. You can tell me what troubles you. I _need_ to know I can trust you.”

            She pursed her lips, letting out a sigh as her head lolled back, defeated, not wanting to reveal what ailed her, but fighting herself to do so. Her hands slipped softly onto his chest, staying a moment. She could tear him open with a simple thought, he knew so, but he wanted to believe she wouldn’t do a thing to harm him. Her palms slid to his shoulders as she faced him again.

            “I don’t trust easily either…” A soft murmur left her.

            He placed his hand on hers. “Have I not given you enough reason to trust me?” He asked her.

            She let another sigh escape her, she fiddled with a strip of loose leather on his jacket. “Before I found you I heard a voice calling out for help. Your voice, though another voice whispered quietly beneath.”

            “You heard me calling?”

            She nodded, “When I blacked out after we confronted Solas I heard whispers as I slept, but I couldn’t understand the words… When you left me, they stopped for a while… But I had this feeling that I couldn’t shake. I had to find you, I _needed_ to find you.”

            “Voices again? These whispers?”

            She shrugged, “I don’t know. Sometimes I’m afraid this spirit has found me again.”

            “What spirit?” He slid his hand from her upper arm down to her elbow. “Have you been possessed?”

            “No. Never. But something… Lingered around me as a child. Sometimes it was there sometimes it wasn’t. I worry sometimes it compels me to do things… Like now… Finding you. Wanting to be near you.”

            ‘It was fate that we met,’ he thought to himself. Nothing else could explain it. He’d heard those words before: lathbora viran. “What does lathbora viran mean? I heard it before, yet I do not know where. Perhaps when I slept.”

            He watched the frown on her face deepen, she was trying to think. “I’m not sure…” She finally said. “A longing for a thing one can never really know?” He stood still for a moment, realizing he was holding her as if she really was his lover. She took in a deep breath, slipping from his hold. “Let’s get going… We may miss the boat across the Waking Sea.”

            He followed after her, still thinking about what she said. Lathbora viran… A longing for a thing one can never really know. _She_ had said it to him, it finally occurred to him. But who was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish phrases according to the DA wiki  
> Ir Ghil-Dirthalen: Ir I believe is I am and Ghil-Dirthalen is supposed to be: one who guides seekers of knowledge true. It might be a title but I'm taking it to mean a phrase ^^;;  
> Ir abelas: I'm sorry.   
> Ma melava halani: You helped me  
> Ma serannas: My thanks/thank you  
> Mala suledin nadas: Now you must endure  
> Na melana sahlin: Your time is come  
> Telanadas: Nothing is inevitable  
> Lathbora viran: Wiki says 'Roughly translated as “the path to a place of lost love,” a longing for a thing one can never really know.' I'm taking it as the second meaning... for now ;)
> 
> French phrases(My French is really rusty so if I get any wrong please inform me! I'm trying to do my best though :3)  
> Mon plaisir: My pleasure.  
> Je ne sais pas: I don't know.


	5. Chapter 5

            Sitting in a tree had proven relaxing as Aren read through a book. She was reading up on nobles in Orlais, any clues that might help lead them to the rest of Remi’s missing rings. She read up on Lady Mantillon specifically, as they both believed she probably had at least a couple, possibly a few. She let out a long sigh, shiver running down her spine. The sunlight had waned as snow clouds covered the sky, and she could feel a snow storm heading their way.

            She had a love hate relationship with the cold months. She loved the way it looked, yet it was always so cold. She was layered up quite nicely, listening to the sounds of hammers in the distance. It’d been a week since they’d gotten back and Remi had hired many workers to fix his estate. The men had been happy to do so, he apparently had thrown quite a bit of royals their way, even going so far as to bring good food in for them to eat on their breaks.

            She wondered how much money he’d stowed away all these years. How many bonds he must have had that allowed him such freedom. She wasn’t sure what he planned to do with the estate, but she had a feeling he wasn’t going to stay to enjoy it. Already he spent as much time away from it as he could, heading into the village to gather knowledge in the library.

            He spent a lot of time reading, it was rather cute. He’d found himself a pair of glasses to help him read better, and the sight of him with them on made his charming features turn bookish. She found him even more attractive.

            Lathbora viran. It also meant the path to a place of lost love. Why had she said those words? It scared her that it possibly wasn’t really her doing the speaking. She lost herself in her thoughts, worrying about these elvish phrases that kept hitting her from time to time. It was as if she was being guided to something, pushed. She asked questions but nothing seemed to answer her.

            It reminded her of when she was a child, her mother had passed from her sickness. She was left to cry and grieve by herself. The clan thought she would spread the same illness that was immune from their healer’s touch to the rest of them. She remembered lying in a patch of dead leaves in the forest, cold, shivering, tears still streaking her cheeks. A warmth had found her, lulling her to sleep in comfort. It stayed with her for a while, until a member of the clan who took pity on her found her and brought her back to the aravels.

            It was so long ago. Even that memory seemed false after the pain they’d put her through later on. Subconsciously she placed her hand over her left ear, though it was covered underneath a scarf. _You want to be a shemlen? Then_ be _a shemlen!_ She had to take a breath as the words still stung her. She could feel her back burning from the lashes, the sharp sting at her ear, slick blood covering half her face.

            She’d snapped. A distraction, the knife was right there and it sunk into his throat. She stared at her hands, book still open in her lap beneath them. Her fingers shook at the memory, eyes staring emptily at her palms. It was so easy to tear through those standing nearby, those who stood and cheered for her to be made an example. Trusting the shems would bring them ruin, they said. It was her mistake, she trusted the wrong person, thinking they could help a member of their clan, and it sealed her fate.

            She’d managed to stop herself finally, but the damage had been done. She ran, bloody and battered through the forests. _Ir abelas._ She’d heard it whisper. She felt sick for days on end afterwards, only thirteen years old at the time. She’d grown up so fast in mere moments. A farm boy had found her near death on their property. He carried her all the way back to his parents, and they patched her up.

            She’d asked them why they had helped her when she was an elf. Weren’t humans disgusted with elves? The mother was sweet as she tended her wounds. _All of the Maker’s children deserve our kindness._ They let her stay with them, but her restless nature drew her to leave. She had offered her a piece of cloth. Though they had been accepting there were others who were not. _I don’t wish to see you ashamed of who you are, but I don’t want you to get hurt again._ She covered her ears, _no one will know when you walk with confidence_.

            She’d found her niche, stealing, treasure seeking. A blight was raging down south so she explored north and east. She’d found herself near Kirkwall, stole from Varric. That memory put a smile on her face for a moment.

            Yet something kept nagging at her. She’d heard of Arlathan before but she wasn’t stupid enough to go near it. Until its pull was too much just a few months ago. Something had pushed her there, she knew it, and it was disturbing.

            Galloping of Turtle’s hoofbeats pulled her from her melancholy and she looked down when the beat stopped. Remi was beneath her waving to her. They’d gotten over their small fight rather quickly, the joking and planning was back in their routine. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to trust Remi when she really hadn’t trusted many people, yet she trusted him fully like her human family all those years ago.

            Grabbing her rucksack she slipped the book back into it. “Find out anything interesting?” She called down to him.

            “Perhaps.” She began to hop down some branches, finally making it to the ground. He offered his hand and helped her up on the back of his horse. “I was thinking of what we could do to get my ring back from Gaspard. If there is another ball somewhere, we could use your sleep trick.”

            “I was thinking about that too. Do you know of anymore galas being held?” She asked then heard him sigh.

            “Unfortunately none. I have to do a little digging, it is not likely I will be invited considering our last run in.”

            Aren let out a huff, “No, I believe we squandered that. That was my fault.”

            “No, it was not. It was Gaspard’s intention to apprehend us. We stood no chance and—” He stopped, and she could see exactly what had caught his attention as he halted Turtle. “Easy, Tortue,” Remi calmed him. She had to grin that Remi had finally caught on to the name she bestowed upon his horse, however he insisted upon the Orlesian word instead. Turtle was aptly named for his lethargic pace every once in a while. Remi had rolled his eyes at first, but he finally relented and agreed. Turtle did rather like to take his time when it pleased him.

            “He wouldn’t.” Remi squinted.

            “He would,” Aren confirmed, not realizing that the sounds of the workers had dissipated, probably when she’d been reminiscing.

            “He has a lot of nerve coming here.” She listened to his low growl.

            “I can take out those templars. He only brought two. We can easily take him now.”

            “That’s the problem. A man like that would not come all this way without reinforcements.” He looked around and she did the same. “Did you not notice them come down this path?”

            “They didn’t,” She assured him. “He went another way.”

            “Through the forests.”

            “Want to turn around?” She asked, not sure what he wanted to do.

            “No, we ride to face him. I’m not afraid of that man.”

            Remi urged Tortue along the path, stopping him just before the horses that belonged to Gaspard and his men. Two were with him, and two more appeared from around his house. His workers were gone.

            “What do you want, Gaspard?” Remi called to him and he turned his horse to face them.

            “I merely wished to extend my apologies, Lord Lyon. Or should I say, Lord Vascal?”

            Remi didn’t flinch an inch. “What are you getting at? My name is Phillipe Lyon, Duke Gaspard. I bear no relation to the Vascals.”

            “Oh really? Is there a reason you look exactly like your grandfather?” Remi felt the tension ease only slightly inside him. He thought him merely a grandson. He didn’t think of that, so keen on hiding his identity he could’ve posed almost as himself, demanded his possessions be returned. Though he knew that would’ve brought more trouble. “I found a painting. The resemblance is uncanny, no?” He tossed a rolled piece of parchment his way.

            “This is ridiculous.” He responded, not unraveling the paper to reveal what was probably an old family painting.

            “Is it now? I believe I would be correct. It would explain your interest in this estate, the rings.”

            “I never said I had interest in the rings.” He shot back. “Why have you come here to disturb me? I will not give up my mother’s possessions because you think them fabled artifacts.”

            Gaspard chuckled, “My you are a brilliant participant of the game. So much like your grandfather from what I’ve heard. Duke Bastien spoke of him often, may the old fool rest in peace. He was why I remembered you looked familiar. Open it.”

            Duke Bastien, he remembered him, trained him in his youth before he turned to his thieving ways. Remi was only seventeen himself, but he was already quite skilled. Bastien was an eager young man, ready to put in the work and was a fine student. Their families had been friends at one point, and he remembered Bastien’s mother had commissioned a painting of the two of them as they’d become fast friends. Remi unrolled the parchment and found it was indeed Bastien and himself.

            “I assume your bastard father probably lived somewhere more north? East perhaps. Now you are here, courage filled to the brim, looking to restore honor back to the Vascal name?”

            “I already told you that I am—”

            “You can keep telling yourself that lie, but I know the truth.” Remi wanted to laugh, he really had no idea, but the grandson guess was a pretty decent theory to hold. “The Black Fox wishes to pick back up where his fabled fool of a grandfather left off, yes?”

            Remi shook his head, “What do you want, Duke Gaspard?”

            “I’m here to propose a duel. I realized my actions were very dishonorable. The entire situation has left a sour taste within my mouth.”

            “A duel? For what?”

            “It’s simple. You win, you get my ring.” _My_ ring, Remi thought, bristling slightly. “If I win, you must forfeit all of your rings and the location of the stronghold.”

            “I already told you my rings are merely fancy trinkets, nothing more.”

            “That may be, but if the legend holds true, those ten rings will open your inherited stronghold. Perhaps you have more valuables locked away in there that could be of use to me.”

            “No.”

            “If you do not duel me then I will simply force you to duel me.”

            “That’s not very honorable of you to do so.” Remi shot back and watched Gaspard’s brow furrow.

            “What have you got to lose if they’re purely trinkets?”

            “The only thing I have left from my mother.” Remi said, and Gaspard huffed, hopping down from his horse.

            “The rules are simple. Only you and I. No interference from outside influences.” Gaspard shot a glance to Aren.

            “I suppose that’s what your dogs are here for? To reign me in?” Remi took a glance and saw her smirking.

            “To keep any and all magic off the field.”

            “Then discard your ring.” Remi ordered.

            “I take it you accept my terms then?”

            Scoffing, Remi hopped down from his horse, followed by Aren. “You’re not giving me any choice.”

            “Every man has a choice. You could’ve disappeared anywhere, yet you chose to come back here.”

            “I had nothing to hide from.” He could see the slight was not lost on Gaspard, the man merely chuckled to cover it up.

            “You are bold, Black Fox. Remember to keep your attack dog at bay.”

            He could see Aren crossing her arms. “Win or lose, Gaspard, you won’t leave here alive.” Her threat hung heavy in the air. “You could always leave now.”

            Remi saw the look on Gaspard’s face, a flicker in his eyes; he was scared of Aren. He really was. Though his bravado covered his tracks with ease as he slunk his way forward. “Why would I do that? I am a trained Chevalier, and I have more than enough templars to neutralize you, my dear. It’s best to let the men fight this one out.”

            Before Remi could retort he felt Aren’s hand at his shoulder as she leaned in close to his ear. “Are you alright with this?”

            “What choice do we have?” He responded. “I may be a tad rusty, but my father trained me. I’m confident in my own skills as well.” He offered her a reassuring smile, saw the worry in her own eyes. “I can take care of myself as well, ma chèrie.” He said and the sweet and confused look on her face made him grin. He settled a kiss to her cheek, innocent, yet bore all the feelings he’d begun to feel for her to this moment. He didn’t know what this fight would yield, but he hoped his father’s teachings were not in vain.

            “Don’t…” He turned back to her. “Don’t make me have to do anything stupid.” She said and he gave her a nod. His bow and quiver were still attached to Tortue’s saddle bag, he had no sword, but he saw Gaspard reaching for two basic swords he’d brought along for the occasion.

            “Saying your goodbyes?” He smirked, and Remi found his cockiness sickened him. He was the very persona of what he stood against in his past.

            “No, merely how much we plan to sell your trinket for. Perhaps Empress Celene would pay a pretty penny for it,” He lied, trying to dissuade Gaspard from thinking he was the one who stole her ring.

            The man let out a laugh as he tossed his extra weapons aside. “Now if you would please disarm yourself. Your bracers. The knife in your boot. One can never be too careful with a rogue.”

            Remi snorted, the man was definitely clever; he removed his knife from his boot, the dagger at his belt, and the shivs from his bracers, handing them over to Aren. He still had a shiv tucked away in the breast of his jacket, but he feigned ignorance with that just in case. He didn’t trust Gaspard to not use a secret weapon if things were not going his way.

            “When you die, Gaspard, what is to happen?” Remi asked, distracting the man from asking him to undress further to get rid of anymore weapons.

            “ _If_ that were to happen, you would have won honorably; my men leave and that is it.”

            “I find that hard to believe.”

            “On my honor as a chevalier, as long as there are no tricks then you will be permitted to do as you see fit.”

            “Your men won’t want revenge?”

            Gaspard smirked, “You really believe you will win this. I say, this should be quite the most interesting duel. Ser Michel de Chevin offered a rousing round, though it’s been some time since I’ve fought against a rogue.”

            “Take off your ring,” Aren said, and Gaspard guffawed as if he’d forgotten, though he slid it from his finger and handed it to one of his men.

            “You stay on your side, mage.” Gaspard threatened, Remi could almost see her roll her eyes once more.

            “My friend has a name.”

            “Now is not the time for squabbling about propriety.”

            Remi sneered, the man barely saw Aren as a person. Gaspard tossed the other sword to Remi and he unsheathed it, looking the weapon over. It was of pretty decent craft, and he only could hope he was entering a duel that was fair. There was only honor amongst chevaliers when it pertained to other chevaliers.

            “Your gloves?” Gaspard asked. “I want to make sure you also have no rings.”

            Remi took off his gloves, glad he still had his rings hidden away. He wiggled his fingers for his own amusement and slipped his gloves back on. “Eager are we?”

            “I want what belongs to me,” Remi raised a brow at his declaration.

            “You are disillusioned. Such will be your fate.”

            “I trust she will guide me to my prize when this is over.” Gaspard said.

            Smirking Remi got into his stance, left hand behind his back as he positioned the sword in front of him. “What makes you think she will need to?”

            Gaspard settled into his own stance; Remi could already tell he was more of the aggressor. A sword and shield warrior, his arm balanced out at his side. He was missing his shield, maybe that could work to Remi’s advantage. A well timed swing could lead Gaspard to block with his arm if he wasn’t thinking so clearly. He could also tell when a fierce opponent was standing before him. To trick Gaspard would take a great deal of effort.

            Remi wasn’t known as that cunning fox for nothing. As he had expected Gaspard lunged at him first, gauging Remi’s fight style as he was gauging his. The clang of swords echoed as the snow began to dust around them. He could almost see Aren shivering, yet he steeled his mind.

            Remi briefly opened himself up to land a hit to the man’s wrist, seeing where Gaspard’s swing would go. Swift as a fox he hopped back, barely missing the slash of his sword to his neck. There was power behind Gaspard’s swings, but Remi knew he had finesse behind his own.

            They went at it again, slashes and parries, a touch of lost breath in the cold afternoon. The air was crisp, sharp, sucking it in left his lungs burning, but it was also invigorating. It’d been so long since he’d engaged in a fight of this nature. Another quick lunge by Gaspard, and Remi ducked, barely moving in time, but felt the sharp slash connect to his shoulder. Warmth touched his skin, he felt the sting of the cut and watched Gaspard’s smirk bloom to his mouth.

            Remi wasn’t deterred, however, settling back in his stance when Gaspard came at him. He was trying to be quick and efficient with his blows, trying to quickly win the duel, but Remi was keen to his game. All brute strength wasn’t going to win this battle, though the man did have stamina, Remi was sure his agility would win this fight.

            He backed away until he countered, their fight seemed louder with the low hang of the clouds. More snow was beginning to dust around them, his templars speaking in hushed tones, distractions. He knew what Gaspard’s aim was bringing along his entourage. It wasn’t only to keep Aren in check, it was also meant for a disturbance.

            Remi landed a quick slice that tugged at Gaspard’s leathers on his chest. A peek of red shown through. Gaspard chuckled, eased back a little to regroup. “I see you are quite skilled. You live up to the Black Fox name.”

            “You are still mistaken, but what would you know of him?” Remi spat, trying to catch his breath.

            “I know that Bastien was quite a skilled swordsman. I heard he learned it from your grandfather.”

            Remi huffed, a puff of air clouding in front of him. “Duke Bastien was it?”

            Gaspard smirked, “Yes. You are asking for information. I see it in your eyes. When I’m done with you, I will get his ring too.” Remi was caught off guard a moment, Gaspard darted towards him. Another hard slash met his sword arm, tearing the bracer off, but Remi managed to turn away from another attack, kicking Gaspard squarely in the chest and staggering him. His opening was wide, Remi took it, lunging forward with swift strikes. As he had expected Gaspard lifted his arm and Remi slammed his sword down onto his shield arm, enough to cut deep and the man recoiled.

            He backed away from Remi’s onslaught, Gaspard found his nerve trying to pound at Remi once more, but the fox held his sword up, catching the blow, immediately countering with a solid swipe to the chevalier’s side. He stumbled backwards, and Remi hopped to one side. He could finish Gaspard, but he didn’t like the look the templars were giving him.

            One utterance could end this for Remi and Aren; if Gaspard claimed that Aren was able to sneak magic into this fight, that would put them on the run from a formidable army. Would Gaspard be honorable as he claimed? Or would he renege on his word?

            The thoughts plagued him too long, lingered more than he expected. Gaspard caught another wind and attacked, more fervor, leading to more blows and cuts than Remi had expected to take. He felt the seepage of blood at his hip, his left shoulder was beginning to feel numb.

            “Something wrong, fox?” Gaspard breathed.

            “He’s worried that you’ll go back on your word.” He heard Aren say.

            “I already explained this duel was to be in honor. Fight me, and do not hold back.”

            Remi thought the man crazy, he was clearly on the losing end of this battle, but now that he had allowed himself a few more injuries, perhaps that was what Gaspard had hoped for. No matter, he would fight him more clearly now, free of worry. If the chevalier did go back on his word, so be it. It wasn’t as if Remi was keen on staying in one place anyway.

            Their fight resumed, Remi was eager to end this. It was coming to a head one way or another, and despite a few new blows Gaspard had managed to land, Remi’s agility was suiting him well. He was using old tactics, ones that worked well to distract opponents in the past. He was trying to frustrate Gaspard, but it wasn’t working as well as he had hoped. No matter, he could cut the fanciful dance, and that’s when he assaulted with more vigor.

            Remi landed several more blows, keeping Gaspard on his toes. It was too easy to get overconfident, so he focused on the task at hand. Keep him retreating, keep him from attacking. Remi geared up for a sure to kill blow when he heard a swift whir in the air and a sharp pain underneath his sword arm. Everything halted, and Remi fell to the ground. As quick as it had all happened, Aren was sliding in front of him and holding onto him, that cooling tingle of her barrier surrounding him while he caught another glance at an arrow ricocheting from her protective bubble.

            “What is the meaning of this?” Gaspard growled, and Remi caught him looking towards the trees. He turned back to his templar companions. “Who is up there?” He demanded.

            Remi ignored them, looking to see Aren’s face. “I had him,” He murmured and Aren hushed him.

            “Lie back,” he could see her fingers shaking, “There’s an arrow in your side.”

            “Is that what it is?” He grunted.

            “You’re lucky you were wearing thick leather and your ribs stopped it from hitting your lung.” She spoke.

            “It feels like I can’t breathe,” He winced.

            “It’ll be fine,” She assured him, and he cried out in pain when she pulled the arrow from its rooted position. Immediately he felt a cooling tingle at his side. “I’m not the best healer.”

            “You say that, yet already it feels leagues better.” He said, feeling like he could breathe once more.

            “You’ll need to take it easy.” She ordered, swiping away the snow that was landing at his forehead. “Honor?” Aren shouted at Gaspard. “Your word means nothing as we knew it.”

            “I did not plan that.” Gaspard groused. “I intended this duel to be honorable. I had not intended for my men to betray me.”

            “Grand duke, please, it was only to—” One of them pleaded, and Gaspard flicked his wrist to assign another soldier to issue the punishment. He was a mess himself, his arm was cut deep into the bone, and other spots were leaking blood.

            “Trust me, when I find this lone archer, he will be made an example of,” He breathed, another templar beginning to tend to his wounds.

            “This duel is forfeit, however a deal is a deal, Lord Vascal.” Gaspard spoke, nodding to another of his guard.

            “I do not understand.” Remi breathed, trying to sit up, but Aren held him still.

            “I am man enough to admit when I am bested. You would’ve struck the killing blow. The ring is yours.” Gaspard took the ring from his soldier, waiting for Aren to let her barrier slide. She didn’t. “The archer is long gone by now.”

            “That’s what you want us to think,” Aren snapped.

            With a sigh he placed it on the ground in front of them. “We will not bother you again.”

            “Just like that?” Remi asked.

            “Yes. Exactly like that. I am a man of my word, Lord Vascal.” Remi scoffed, pain jolting from his side.

            “Of course,” He said sarcastically. “That is why I was forced into this duel in the first place.”

            “Feel free to finish me off another day.”

            “How fortunate that things played out this way.” Remi snapped at the man. He wasn’t convinced that this hadn’t been a piece of his plan to begin with.

            “Believe what you must, Lord Vascal. We shall be taking our leave. With any luck, I will still have my arm upon our next encounter.”

            “Pray there is not another meeting between us, Grand Duke. I will finish what you started. Je promets.”

            “Je vous crois.” Gaspard spoke, and the men cleared off on their horses away from his estate.

            “Do you believe they’re really all gone?” Remi asked.

            “No, but there’s one way to find out.” Aren’s expression was serious, she held out her palm, directing a blast of energy towards the trees the arrow had come from. They shook violently for a moment, only the flurry of snow and dead leaves rustled in the air. Nothing was over there any longer. The snow was falling faster now, and Aren let the barrier fall, leaning over him to grab the ring from the ground. She placed it in his palm without hesitation, and he clutched it to his chest.

            “Well earned I suppose,” He grumbled, and Aren scoffed.

            “It was stupid.” She responded. “Pointless actually. I could have taken him down and earned it outright.”

            “I like to believe that I’m an honorable man too.”

            She scrunched her nose at him, and he smiled; he thought her facial expressions were a cute quirk. “I never claimed to be honorable. That would’ve been on me. Can you stand?”

            “I believe so,” He answered, letting her help him to his feet. He crumpled only slightly, the loss of blood had made him woozy.

            “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

            “And get you warmed up,” He chuckled, “You’re freezing.”

            “It’s snowing!”

            He laughed once more as they passed the threshold. It was cold inside as well, and she helped him closer to the hearth in the sitting room down the longer than usual hallway. Repairs had been speedy so far, the main floor looked nice, the floors and walls looked beautiful, simple, just the way it had been. The second floor still needed attention, though half of that was almost done as well. His estate was on the smaller side compared to other Lords. His father had not lived beyond his means to show the splendor of what they had.

            She laid him next to the fireplace, tossing a few logs of wood inside. She cast a meager fireball inside and it lit up, crackling and popping. “I’ll be right back.” She said, and he heard the creak of the door as she went back outside. He gingerly leaned against the fireplace for a moment. It quickly took the chill from his bones.

            What was he doing, he wondered. Engaging in duels with someone as high ranking as Gaspard was? He really could be a fool sometimes. His friends used to chide him in his younger years. One day that bravado would be his undoing. How right they’d been. He needed to be smarter about the decisions he was making especially with his second change. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get tangled up with someone like Gaspard. He should’ve been more careful, not so reckless at Celene’s ball.

            Gaspard rightly suspected it was Remi that had stolen the ring. Would he, or had he, told Celene? Would she now come after him as well. He knew what needed to be done. Once his home was complete, he’d have to leave it. He would be sad to do so, but it was the right thing. His heart wasn’t rooted to one spot anyway. He heard the front door creak open, Aren made a noise and he chuckled, watching her down the long hall shaking the cold from her bones. He realized she saved him once again.

            He was smiling as he watched her, and she finally looked up, offering a small wave. She made her way down the hall and entered the room again, sidling up next to the fire to quickly warm up.

            “It’s coming down harder now,” She said. “I made sure Turtle was comfortable in his stable.”

            “Thank you.” He said, letting out a groan as he shifted. “Could you help me from here. I’m far too hot now.” She helped move him, settling him against a crate that was sitting nearby. It held many supplies for the workers, and it worked out perfectly to keep him close enough to the fire.

            Aren left his side again, she went into the room off this one and he saw blankets and pillows fling across the area. They’d been sleeping in there for the time being. He’d managed to get a mattress, but there was no bed. It worked out fine for the both of them, however. She was back moments later, placing his sleeping trousers and a fresh tunic onto the crate. She was gone again and came back with food, and once again she’d slipped from the room to get something else.

            “Aren, please, you can come back and sit down,” He called. “I’m perfectly able—” He grunted, “I’m perfectly able to do things on my own. I’m fine.” He lied. He wasn’t fine. He was tired, and he was starving. He reached up, then thought better. He was filthy, and turned himself around to use the crate to pull him to his feet. He was panting, the room spun for a moment.

            “Hey, hey what are you doing?” She asked as she materialized by his side.

            “I need a bath.”

            “I know. We need to clean your wounds.” She said.

            “We?” He smirked her way and she made a face.

            “I don’t think you’re in any shape for anything more than that,” She teased, and he groaned once again.

            “Do not trouble yourself, Aren. I will take care of myself.”

            “You’ll take care of yourself, hm?” She insinuated and he let out a snort.

            She helped him into the washroom, already having drawn him a bath. She helped him peel his leathers from his body, already seeing most of his wounds had stopped bleeding. He felt her palm at his side, a little more cooling magic healing his injury. She settled her other hand at his hip.

            “Don’t get used to this.” She said.

            “Hm?”

            “The healing. I’m not that good at it, so I can only do the basics.”

            “Oh,” He said, his mind having been elsewhere. The feel of her bare hands on his bare skin was what he was thinking of. “I will try not to put myself in more peril.”

            “Good.” She stated. “I think that’s all I can do for now. Just be careful to not reopen them. I’m sure they’ll be sore for days.”

            “You speak from experience.”

            “Lots, unfortunately.”

            He nodded, “I uh…” He was uneasy. What would this all mean for them? “I can take it from here. Thank you.”

            She smirked, heading out of the room as he undressed himself completely and slipped into the tub. He soaked for a while, finally rinsing himself off when the water had gotten cold. Aren had tossed his clothes and a towel into the washroom for him a bit ago, and he dried himself off and dressed though it was difficult to do so. She was right, he was sore and achy and his stomach rumbled to add to his plight.

            Carefully he braced himself against the wall as he struggled down the hallway. He felt so silly, legs working perfectly fine, but the exhaustion was plaguing him. He finally made it back to the sitting room, Aren was comfortable among blankets, already stripped down to her own bed clothes near the fire.

            “Do you need any help?”

            “I’m fine.” He said, shuffling his way to her spot on the floor and sat down beside her, content sigh leaving him at finally sitting back down. She handed him a plate and he began to eat some of the bread, smoked meat, and cheese. It calmed his stomach, and he watched her carefully. “Thank you.”

            “I owe it to those in need to honor those who took care of me once.”

            “Oh?” He asked curiously.

            She shrugged, “It was… nothing.”

            He scoffed, “It meant everything,” He gave her a sidelong glance and she averted his eyes. “If you ever need to speak about it. You can. Sometimes it helps to heal the soul.”

            “You were tortured too.” She spoke, and he nodded. “Birds of a feather I suppose.” She muttered. “As much as I try not to, I still hate them all.”

            “You wouldn’t be alone in that.” He told her.

            “Tell me about the woman that betrayed you.”

            He let out a huff, “Why should I tell you a story if you will not share one with me?” She frowned, making another face at him and he let out a laugh, then clutched his side. “You don’t have to share if you do not wish to.”

            She sighed, “I was badly injured when a family found me. Well their son found me, brought me to their home, and his parents nursed me back to health.”

            “Is that when…” He pointed to his own ear and she nodded.

            “It was part of it.” She said, taking another sip of her wine. “For the first time since my mother died, I felt that someone genuinely cared about my well-being.”

            “Do you still visit this family?”

            She nodded, “Yes. I drop in on them, stash a pouch of andris coins for them to find. They don’t like to accept my money, so I have to sneak it in without them knowing. I want them to be taken care of. They saved me. In more ways than one.”

            He smiled fondly at her memory. “I found much comfort in my family. I was lost for a while when they were murdered. Thought revenge would bring comfort, but it only made me sicker with myself.”

            “So you stole to make it right.”

            “Seemed right at the time,” He chuckled, sipping his own glass of wine, swirling it in its glass. He let out a long sigh. “She was Servana de Montfort. She joined our merry band, a mage. Her family paid quite a bit of royals to the chantry to keep it quiet about her abilities. She broke away from her family however when we came along, although she had a quiet reputation of helping mages escape the circle. I suppose it caught up with her.”

            “She helped you escape your prison didn’t she?”

            “She kept my location secret for more than a year. My friends finally found her, threatened it out of her. She tagged along in order to help them, but by then the damage had been done.”

            “You loved her…”

            “I did… Though I did not show it as well as I should have I suppose. My debauchery caught up with me. I spurned her too many times. That’s not how you should show someone you love them.”

            “Sounds like it was deeper than a lover’s quarrel. You don’t turn someone in then try to repent for it because of being spurned.”

            “It took her a year. And only because my friends made her tell them.”

            “She was looking out for herself. Her guilt led her to help them get you out. It’s all there in the writing, Remi.” He frowned at her words, taking another sip of his wine.

            “At any rate, I’m sure her family has one of my rings. She took the ring from my ring finger before I was taken.”

            Aren let out a snort, “Yes, she was definitely doing it for another reason.” She said, and he started to believe maybe she was right. After a while of chatter and wine, he found himself lying with his head in her lap. He wasn’t sure how they’d gravitated to this comfortable position, but he found it was so easy to be this way with her.

            It was comfortable actually, despite him wanting more, he rather enjoyed the way they could just be together like this. He held his ring up, eying it, happy to have another back. He slipped it back onto a finger and felt her easing her fingers through his hair. A sigh escaped him, he could slip his hand behind her neck and pull her down for a kiss, but the doubt lingered. Was this solely in his head? Or did she actually want him the way he wanted her?

            “Is Aren short for something?” He asked.

            Her eyes were half lidded, sleepy, the fire crackled lightly in the hearth. “Maybe,” Coy as ever and he chuckled. “My mother often liked to go into the mountains. There was a little white flower she loved to pick, placing it in her hair. It’s called Arenaria. That is my full name.”

            “I had a feeling.” He was silent a moment, but he couldn’t stop the next words from leaving his mouth. “Tu es une belle fleur sauvage.” He whispered, and she stared at him a moment, processing, trying to figure out what he’d said.

            “There you go again. Making Orlesian sound so much better than it should,” She grinned sleepily, and she slipped down in the comfort of their pillows and blankets.

            “You’re finally warm,” He was sleepy himself, only holding on because she was still awake herself. He situated himself, finding a pillow to lay his head on so she could be comfortable herself.

            “You help with that,” She moved so she could rest her head on his chest. “I hope you don’t mind.”

            “Not at all.” He said, finally drifting off to the soft scent of the fire, and he could swear he smelled the faint familiar aroma of arenaria blossoms wafting through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French phrases: (Again I'm rusty, but I swear I search for about ten minutes on french/english dictionary sites and forums to make sure I'm doing okay xD Correct me if needed please!)  
> Ma chèrie: My darling  
> Je promets: I promise.  
> Je vous crois: I believe you.   
> La belle fleur sauvage: The beautiful wild/savage flower*I got this from a song title by Lord Huron. It was pretty perfect considering her name is from a flower (:*   
> Tu es une belle fleur sauvage: You are a beautiful wild flower.


	6. Chapter 6

            Luckily the snow hadn’t fallen too hard the night before, or not as long as they had expected. They were able to make their way to the nearby village, Remi wanted to speak with a few people in town regarding Duke Bastien’s family as well as the Montforts.

            Not interested in the politics Aren patted Turtle on his flank as he drank from a trough. For a moment she set her forehead to his saddle, head aching. She thought it’d been the excessive amount of Orlesian wine the previous night, but a whisper tickled the back of her mind. She didn’t want to listen to it, and the more she ignored it, the more her head hurt.

            She didn’t know what more this spirit wanted with her, but she understood it sometimes while other times she didn’t. She was tired of the elvish whisperings. When she looked up a flash of black caught her eye and she stilled staring into the woods. A sharp howl entered her mind, and she looked to see if the other townspeople had heard it; they hadn’t.

            She was about to walk into the woods, drawn there, but something seemed to stop her and she stood still. _Not now_. She was able to distinguish and frowned.

            “Aren,” She turned to see Remi heading her way.

            “What did you find out?” She quickly asked before he could see that something was troubling her.

            “My old friend had a lover who was supposedly part of this Inquisition. A Madame de Fer.”

            “Oh,” That piqued her interest. She did want to head back to Skyhold to speak with Hahya. “I know the way to Skyhold if you want to ask the Inquisitor?”

            “I suppose that’s our next move then. Let’s make preparations.”

            They prepared for the journey ahead, it would take the better part of a week for them to travel back to Skyhold, especially if the weather wasn’t cooperating. Being a mage had its perks however, and she could at least keep them warm on the road if need be.

            Upon their arrival at Skyhold Aren could see it was still as abandoned as it had been the last time she’d been here. She made her way across the bridge, Remi was close by, and she shivered, offering him a small glare as he chuckled softly. He knew she didn’t like to use her magic unnecessarily.

            “How are you never cold?” She asked.

            He shrugged as he grinned her way, “I suppose I became used to it,” A chill wind blew by them and when she let out a slight shriek he began to laugh. “Here,” He offered his arm and she gladly slunk in closer to his warm side. “You are even wearing two jackets and a cloak, how are you this cold?”

            Groaning she walked faster and he quickened his own pace so as not to stumble. “I don’t know. It’s a curse.” She grumbled.

            Once past the threshold of the gate she saw a figure running quickly towards them, the Inquisitor, yet when Hahya spotted the two of them she stopped, looking disappointed. Another elf was behind her a ways, light brown hair and deep brown skin, a dark tattoo on one side of his face.

            “Aren?” Hahya spoke, relaxing.

            “Disappointed?” Aren asked, offering a small wave.

            “I was expecting someone else.” Hahya said, turning around and moving back towards the small area set up with tents.

            “You’re staying out in these tents waiting for someone when it’s freezing cold outside?” Aren asked incredulously, hearing Remi laughing behind her.

            “Ah, Hahya, who are your lovely friends?” The other elf asked, and Aren could hear his Antivan accent on his voice.

            “This is Aren. I don’t know that man.” She stated flatly.

            “Ouch,” Aren chuckled offering a hand to the man who was making rather friendly eyes towards her. “Aren, and this is—” She grimaced, looking back to Remi who nodded, offering his hand to the elf.

            “Phillipe.”

            “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, I am Zevran Arainai.”

            “Zevran?” She raised a brow.

            “Ah, so you’ve heard of me, yes?” He asked proudly, and truth be told Aren had no idea who he was.

            “Uh… Yes,” She lied, shrugging and he only laughed and took her hand in his, lips touching her gloved knuckles.

            “Well, you will soon find out exactly who I am.”

            “This seems like a lot of promising,” Aren said and heard Remi clear his throat. “Pleased to meet you too, Zev, but I’ve got to talk to Hahya about something.” She made her way towards the fire that Hahya was tending, she was without her rune equipped prosthetic arm, dressed casually warm. She wasn’t expecting much fight these days she could see that.

            “Have you seen him?” Hahya asked when she made her way over.

            “No, I haven’t.” She fiddled with her fingers, not knowing how to ease into what she really wanted to ask so she played the fool. “However, I have a lead on my adventure!” The Inquisitor merely narrowed her eyes at her yet Aren was unaffected by her glare. “Do you know a Madame de Fer?”

            “Yes, she’s a friend and former companion.”

            “Is she close to the Bastien family?” Aren asked.

            “I’m not sure. Duke Bastien passed away about four years ago. Vivienne resides in Val Royeaux. She’s been at the forefront of designing schools for mages.”

            “Circles?”

            “Somewhat. Less strict regulations. It doesn’t sound like it’s going well, but Vivienne is still highly respected, and determined. The nobles want to restore the circle. On some level so does she, only without the Chantry atrocities affiliated with it.”

            “I see.”

            “Still on your quest for the rings? What does Vivienne and Bastien have to do with it?”

            “The Black Fox was a mentor to Duke Bastien long ago,” Remi said as he wandered towards their spot. He sat down next to Aren and Zevran still stood, hands over the fire to gather warmth. Aren could see he was watching the both of them carefully, but staring more at Remi. “He may have another ring.”

            “Are you the man that woke up in Arlathan?” Hahya asked, and Remi slowly glanced at Aren who shrugged, yet before he could offer an answer Hahya’s attention was back on the gate. She stood, bolting towards the two figures that appeared. Aren could see one was a child, the other a man.

            Hahya dropped to her knees as the little boy wrapped his arms around her neck, his hood fell down and she could see a mop of light brown hair over elven ears, and tanned skin though lighter than Hahya’s. The man next to her removed his own hood, white hair tied back out of his face, and the most peculiar set of tattoos were set upon his chin on his brown skin, with a few dots on his forehead.

            She could actually see a smile on Hahya’s face and she chuckled, “Ah, she smiles.”

            “Yes,” Zevran nodded, “She smiles quite a bit when those two are around her these days.”

            “Who’s the kid?” Aren asked.

            “That would be her child, the little Dread Wolf,” Zevran added and Aren raised her brows.

            “She had a kid with him?”

            “Yes, but he does not know. At least we’re hopeful it’s still a secret.” He told them. “Leliana had spoken to me about becoming the new spymaster for the Inquisition after her second, how should I say, divine intervention? Though the Inquisition had folded, she still wanted a small group she could trust to protect the Inquisitor. I soon found out why. It was suggested that she leave Skyhold. Hahya was worried about why Solas left, suspicious really. She was worried he might try to take him from her.”

            “I suppose it didn’t help when she learned he was Fen’Harel.” Aren remarked.

            “It did not. So the mini dread wolf mostly stays with his caretaker when Hahya is working here, though she’s grown tired of worrying, feeling as though her former lover is far too busy to disturb her here any longer.”

            “Hopefully he won’t…” Aren said softly.

            They spoke a little longer till their little party retired inside. It wasn’t until later that Hahya reluctantly pulled herself away from her son, wanting to speak with her in private.

            “A missive came for you about a week ago. It’s from Varric.” Hahya handed it to her.

            “What’s it say?” Aren asked.

            Hahya’s expression didn’t change, “I don’t know.”

            “Oh.” She was surprised, the Inquisitor herself wasn’t… Inquisitive? She opened the letter, short and to the point which was surprising for Varric. It merely said _Lucky, head to Kirkwall when you have a chance, the quicker the better. I need to speak with you in person._ She wondered about what? She could only assume it involved Hawke and that he didn’t want to mention her by name to give up her location.

            She’d have to tell Remi later, however now they were all about to sit down and eat. Zevran and Fenris, as well as Remi, had taken it upon themselves to prepare them a meal. Aren had to grin, she could get used to three men cooking for her quite easily, though only one was needed in her eyes.

            “Aren, this is my son Fen.” Hahya said as they sat down at the table. She’d been so engrossed with talking with her child and tending to him that she’d forgotten to introduce them. He ducked his head shyly into his mother’s side. “He’s shy.”

            “Nothing to worry about, Fenny,” Aren waved, “I won’t bite,” She offered up a grin.

            “Those words are never encouraging,” She chuckled. “My friend said the same thing, he still avoids her.”

            “Aw, don’t hurt my feelings, Fen,” Aren said, seeing the little boy trying to hide a shy smile. She had to laugh though, “Fen?” She asked Hahya who put a finger to her lips. She assumed the little one had no idea who his father was.

            “At the time it seemed innocent. Wolves seemed to leave us be whenever he was in our party. A shared understanding that I had no idea about. They always reminded me of him. I found out the hard way why they did…”

            The night grew long, surprisingly enough laughter and smiles were offered around the table while the drinks flowed. Remi had shared a story or two, nothing too in depth as to not reveal his identity, and Zevran had to chime in about stories of the Hero of Ferelden and her lover, now husband, the King. He was acting out, with Aren as his participant, how Alistair had offered the beautiful Ohahn Cousland a rose. She had accepted, to Zevran’s surprise, since she was apparently quite blunt and hard at times.

            “She even blushed as you are right now, my dear,” Zevran raised a brow her way, and Aren couldn’t help but laugh.

            “Don’t flatter yourself, it’s the ale.” She responded.

            “Oh no, please do not break my heart just as my beautiful savior did!” Zevran acted, trying to play being wounded in his flirting. “Unfortunately for me, the lovely warden had already settled her gaze upon the very inexperienced future King.”

            Aren laughed, catching Remi eying the two of them carefully. He took another pull from his mug, trying to hide his frown. Was he jealous? It sent a slight thrill about her, and she planned to tease him on it later.

            More ale and the food long gone, Hahya and Fenris gathered a sleepy young wolf to put him to bed. Zevran regaled them with a few more stories, until Remi excused himself. Zevran watched him go till he was past the door that led to the garden.

            “So, my dear lovely new companion. Are you and… Phillipe betrothed?” He finally asked.

            Smirking, Aren shrugged, “Not exactly.”

            “Well, then does that mean you are free for a night of continuing our fun?”

            “Not exactly,” She said again, watching him chuckle good naturedly.

            “It was worth a shot.” He shrugged, then smirked her way. “I see the way that he looks at you. He’s quite smitten.”

            Aren laughed, “We’re partners, that’s all.” She insisted, though she knew she wanted more, it was only hard to act upon it.

            “I know well enough the look between lovers, or future lovers. I watched it firsthand, and I am a sucker for a good love story. Especially one as fanciful as The Black Fox falling for an elven mage.” She stilled a moment, turning to face him, she hadn’t meant to lay her confusion out on her face, but sometimes she couldn’t control her expressive features. “How did I know? Easy. A long, _long_ time ago I was a part of the Crows. I came upon an old trunk, and within it was a contract for The Black Fox, also known as Lord Remi Vascal. That man’s picture plastered to it. Very detailed painting, and the resemblance is too striking to be a coincidence.”

            “How absurd,” Aren scoffed, “That was what… Fifty odd years ago? What makes you think it’s really him?”

            “No heirs to speak of, the Vascal estate abandoned, not to mention shifty things happening in old Elvhen ruins. If he were to head to Arlathan, as the legends told, who is to say that some mysterious force didn’t keep him safe like the elves in the Temple of Mythal? Considering the big bad dread wolf is alive and well, I think it is safe to assume even the most incredulous of stories could be proven true. Also, judging by your look of recognition and shock, it has sealed my theory, no?”

            “Shit…” She breathed, “We’re trying to keep it a secret.”

            “Secrets are what I do best, my dear, I wouldn’t be a good spymaster otherwise. You can trust me, his secret is safe. There is however, another matter. A secret for a secret I suppose. We are gathering allies. We will take the fight to Fen’Harel, sooner or later. Will you stand with us too?”

            Aren’s brows raised in her hazy state. “What?”

            “Perhaps we should discuss this matter when drinking is not so heavily involved,” he grinned, standing from his seat to stretch his limbs. “And if by any chance you change your mind, you know where to find me,” He winked, heading off to the old spymaster’s perch atop the rotunda.

             Aren got up as well, leaving through the door Remi had gone through. She assumed he went up to one of the rooms that Hahya had told them they could stay in which were above the gardens. She went outside, feeling the chill touch her bones almost immediately as the pale moons’ light slipped in and out of clouds. She looked up and saw he was leaning against the rail above her in front of the rooms.

            She went to the stairs, heading up and met him. He didn’t look at her, though she could see his cheeks still flushed in… embarrassment?

            “Is everything alright?” She asked, rubbing her arms with her hands.

            “Yes, why would it not be?” He answered, still averting her gaze and looking up at the stars and moons.

            “I don’t know, you left. You looked upset… At me,” She shrugged.

            “Look, Aren, you needn’t explain yourself to me, if you want him, have him. We are partners.” He said, and she couldn’t help herself as she slipped in closer beside him, feeling the comforting warmth that exuded from his body.

            “You think I’d just sleep with anyone who batted a pretty eye at me?” She asked, trying to ruffle his feathers a little, trying to coax him into doing what she knew they both wanted to do.

            “That’s not what I implied…” He stood up straight, looking at her finally and she saw the deep swallow in his throat, the darkening of his eyes.

            “Well, if… There are no other interested parties perhaps I should go have my way with him. It’s been far too long as it were.” She said, watching the furrow in his brow, but he didn’t move again. She, however, did move, about to walk away when she felt his hand on her arm and in a blur his lips were pressed against hers followed by the heavy press of his body, her back arching slightly over the rail until he wrapped one arm around her waist, and placed one hand to her cheek.

            She kissed him back, the cold leaving her quickly, and she grabbed his tunic, tugging, wanting him closer despite being close enough already. His tongue slipped inside her mouth when she parted her lips, she could taste the ale, the fruit, and she wanted more, kissing him back just as heatedly.

            The thoughts swam through her mind, she’d wanted to do this for a long time, feel his lips upon hers. Warm, soft, hungry, passionate, it was everything she thought it’d be, ever since she’d first laid eyes upon him, saddened, distraught. He was grieving, he needed help, and if she didn’t do what she had done he would’ve been struck down just like his friends.

            Suddenly she broke away from him, the sudden realization hitting her like a slap that these thoughts weren’t her own. The cold air surrounded them in clouds from their heavy breaths, and she swallowed hard as she stared into his confused hues.

            “Ir abelas,” She uttered, then abruptly growled. “Fuck—leave me,” She moved away from him, not realizing at first that it sounded like she’d meant him. She saw the flash of disappointment on his face before he quickly turned to leave. “Wait, Remi, I didn’t mean… you…” She said to the emptying, cold air around her. “Fuck,” she cursed again, freezing fingers falling down her face.

            She did want him, she had wondered what his lips would feel like against hers, and it was everything she’d imagined so far, yet those lingering tendrils of whatever was plaguing her slipped into her mind. A woman, an elvhen woman, one from long ago. She put Remi to sleep. She’d taken a liking to him. Was that why she liked him the way she did? Because of some outside influence? A spirit attached to her? She didn’t know, and it disturbed her, but she didn’t want to like him if it wasn’t her own feelings.

            She turned towards Skyhold’s main hall, looking down into the deserted entryway until she heard voices. She tucked herself back, listening, it was Hahya and Fenris.

            “I want to stay by your side. It’s not enough to see you in mere moments between long absences. I do not want to be so far away.” He told her.

            “I know. I feel the same.” Hahya agreed and Aren quietly looked over the rail to see them walking together, hand in hand. She didn’t take either grouch to be so affectionate, but apparently they were indeed the type. She saw the way Fenris looked at her, the way he doted on her son. There was a deep bond that had formed, and she wondered just how that came about. Or rather when? Hahya was still hung up on Solas, so much in love with the Dread Wolf. Did she fall for the little wolf before or after she found out, she wondered. Seemed she took a liking to wolves, Aren smirked to herself.

            “I think it is time,” Fenris stated, and she watched as he stood still, Hahya coming to an abrupt stop when he didn’t budge further.

            “I don’t know if we can…” She finally answered him.

            “You don’t know, or you just don’t think you can face him?” He asked and Hahya’s gaze slipped to the floor. He placed his hands on both her cheeks, pulled her to look at him, thumbs skimming slowly across the soft freckles dotting her face. “I know you still love him… I’ve dared to hope that you… could feel the same for me.”

            “Fenris—” His name was nearly a whisper that ghosted from her lips, but he shook his head.

            “Please.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, words that he’d probably taken care to form in his mind for some time. “ I never thought I could… Or rather I never allowed myself to think that I could feel what I feel for another. I was never permitted to, and it’s taken so long to cope with it. Your son means a lot to me, as do you. I do not wish to be parted from either of you, but if you choose him… Then so be it. Though I will _not_ allow him to harm Fen or you.”

            Hahya said nothing, though she didn’t need to she assumed, as she slid in and pressed her lips to his. It was a soft kiss, one so gentle for two people who seemed so rough. Aren ached at the display below her, chastising herself for stopping her own tryst. Whispers entered her mind and she cursed the woman for plaguing her again. She was tired of the cryptic messages, tired of this affair. She only wanted to journey with Remi, be by his side, and help him find a piece of his past.

            What Zevran said they were planning, to go after Solas with everything they had, Aren wanted nothing to do with it. If there was a war to be fought it wasn’t her place. She could reach the ends of Thedas if she wanted to, she could venture further than anyone expected, she knew she could, but she didn’t want to be involved in this kind of suicide mission.

            It wasn’t her place, she was an adventurer, an explorer. She wasn’t interested in battle and glory. She’d almost seen the power Solas had firsthand and she was lucky to have escaped alive from that encounter. Hahya and Fenris had made it to the end of the hall and up to the Inquisitor’s room, while she laid back on the floor. She stared at the sloped ceiling noticing an old faded picture painted upon it. Strange she thought, it almost looked like a mirror, a figure standing small in front of it. It was hard to see, it must’ve been painted so long ago.

            She frowned, there was something eerily familiar about it. She got up, heading towards the stairs and exited upon the rotunda at the bottom. She’d walked through this room earlier, barely paying much attention to the paintings on the wall, but it was the same style as the faded one. She could see a smattering of black and white paint staining the floor which dotted and marred one of the frescos. The paint streaked across it, anger, pain, a desk had been thrown aside and left to sit against one of the walls.

            This must’ve been Solas’s space, and Aren was saddened by the pain he’d caused Hahya. If he had planned what he had planned from the start, why would he do that to her? Especially if he cared for her as much as everyone said he did. Maybe he didn’t mean to fall so hard, but he was shoved so far up his own ass that he was willing to destroy the world for his cause.

            A snort entered her thoughts, _typical, he was always prideful_.

            “This has to stop.” She said quietly into the space. _Then you need to listen._ She was beginning to understand her voice, yet she shook her head no. “I want nothing to do with you…”

 

~~~

 

            Remi ran his fingers through his hair, blowing out a deep sigh. He didn’t mean to kiss her, had tried to resist doing so, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to fall back into an old habit, but he was powerless to resist Aren. It seemed as though she changed her mind, so suddenly. He laid awake half the night thinking far too long about it all. If she didn’t want him, she didn’t want him, but Maker, did he want to be with her despite his better judgment.

            He heard her final words, but he was too embarrassed to admit her outburst had hurt his feelings when he thought she’d meant him, because who else could she have meant if she hadn’t meant him? Was that supposed spirit still bothering her? He knew something had been on her mind, but she was still reluctant to tell him in detail about it. He was determined to find out if it was still plaguing her, whispering to her, and if she didn’t want to tell him then he didn’t feel as though he could travel with her any longer. There was something more about these whisperings that she wasn’t telling him, and he was reluctant to travel with a mage who could potentially be possessed.

            He finally made it to the main hall, Fenris was tending to a pot of stew near the fire. It was easier to cook out here than in the kitchen he assumed. He went over to help, stirring the pot when Fenris moved to take care of other items.

            “Your mage friend was spying on me last night.” Fenris abruptly stated, and Remi was taken aback a moment.

            “Pardon?”

            “You might want to keep an eye on her. You can’t always trust mages.”

            He frowned, “She saved my life. Twice. I owe her my trust.”

            Fenris scoffed, “And to what end did she save you? Do you really believe there was no ulterior motive? There almost always is.”

            “Almost. But not with her.” Remi was defensive. Yes, he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him, but that didn’t mean he’d allow someone else to speak ill of her.

            “There’s bread in the oven in the kitchen. Would you fetch it for me?” Fenris asked, almost a little hesitant to ask it of him. He seemed wounded himself, years of torture he assumed. It wasn’t so hard to spot a fellow victim.

            “Yes,” He nodded, heading for the door off the main hall that led to the kitchen. He retrieved it from the oven, setting it onto the table to cool.

            “Remi?” He turned, Aren had walked through the door, shutting it behind her. “Could we speak?”

            He ran a hand through his hair, leaning his hands back onto the table. He could feel the dull ache in his side still, though Aren had done a great job of healing it with what little knowledge she had of that craft. He didn’t say anything, but looked at her expectantly.

            “About last night…” She fumbled, “I didn’t mean you.”

            “Will you tell me who you did mean?” He asked, watching her fiddle with her fingers.

            “I don’t know,” He let out a frustrated sigh at her answer and she quickly shook her head. “I don’t know who.” She clarified.

            “If you cannot be honest with me, perhaps it’s… not a good idea for us to travel together. I don’t believe I can protect myself from you.” The words caught in his throat, and he immediately felt bad when he saw the sadness in her eyes. She tried to brush it off quickly, always moving, so expressive, trying to hide what she really felt.

            “I’m trying to be honest, but I don’t know what’s going on. I’m terrified,” She finally admitted. “I’m worried that this spirit is possessing me.”

            “If you are worried, wouldn’t that mean it’s not? You would know if your actions were not your own.”

            She shrugged, almost helplessly. “When you were… Last night when you kissed me, I had these thoughts. They weren’t mine. It worried me. I don’t want to hurt you if wanting you isn’t what I want.”

            That stung, he admitted to himself. “You think this spirit has… feelings for _me_?”

            She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, beginning to pace. “I don’t know if this is true, but… I think she put you to sleep… And I think she found me and pushed me to wake you up.”

            It would make some sort of sense. He had faint memories of a Dalish woman speaking to him while he slept. “But why?”

            “I think she felt sorry for you… Wanted to save you.”

            “I don’t remember much, but I do not remember seeing a woman before it happened.”

            “I think she was a spirit then too.”

            He let out a sigh, it was all too much to process. “It all seems so… Incredulous.”

            “Trust me, no one thinks this is stranger than me. She lingered upon me when I was a child once, but I hadn’t heard from her again. I always assumed she left, but lately… I don’t know what to think any longer.”

            “You’re you, Aren.” He finally said. “I don’t see you as this woman, I don’t think she possesses you.”

            “How do you know?” She helplessly shrugged, shoulders sagging. “Are you some expert on mages? I’m certainly not, and I am one.”

            “I went to college?” He chuckled which earned him a soft smile from her.

            “I don’t want to hurt you, Remi.”

            He wrapped the loaf of bread in a cloth, picking it up as he walked closer to the door. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, feeling the warmth as he lingered. “You won’t. You’ve proven that when you saved me.” He put his hand on her shoulder before he made his way to the door, glancing back to see her swivel lightly on her feet as she followed after him. “Thank you for being honest. Even if it’s still hard to believe.”

            “I barely believe it myself, but it’s the only thing that makes sense,” She responded.

            Once back to the main hall, Hahya was out and attending to her son and Zevran was chatting with the little boy. He only noticed now that he was amongst elves, and had to laugh inwardly at that thought. The Orlesian snobs would be rolling if they knew he was keeping company with them so amiably, even going so far as to fetch bread for one of them, and clearing the table the night before when he finally wandered back upon the main hall.

            They ate once more, and he rather enjoyed their company, but he was anxious to head back to Val Royeaux to obtain another ring. When he suggested this to Aren, he could see Hahya watching them.

            “I would like to accompany you to Val Royeaux.” She finally stated.

            “Oh?” Aren raised her brows, dipping her bread into her stew.

            “I believe I can help you obtain what you seek if I were there to speak with her. If she has it, that is.”

            “In other words you rather us not steal it from her,” Aren said bluntly and Remi tried not to snort.

            “Yes. In other words.” Hahya glared her way.

            “If that is what you wish, then we will accept your company, Inquisitor,” Remi offered politely and her usually expressionless features cringed.

            “Please, call me Hahya. I am Inquisitor no longer.” She told him.

            “Apologies.”

            “Actually…” Aren looked to Remi. “I was thinking we should head to Kirkwall first. Varric sent word to me, and I think it might be about the ring Hawke has.”

            Remi raised his brows. “When did you find this out?”

            “Last night, I haven’t had the chance to speak with you about it yet.”

            “That works out more favorably,” Hahya chimed in. “Go to Kirkwall, send word to me when you are leaving, and I shall meet you in Val Royeaux.”

            With the details planned out they made their leave soon after eating. Zevran was speaking to Aren again and he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that hit him. Did she perhaps favor elves over humans? He shook his head at the silly thoughts, she’d merely toyed with him the night before to get him to kiss her instead of the other way around. Though he wasn’t sure now what else to do. He wasn’t going to kiss her again if she didn’t know if she really wanted him to.

            Their journey led them to Jader where they caught a boat to Kirkwall. It’d been ages since he’d seen this place, but it was always still unsettling to see the monuments to slavery on the way in. Soon they’d made their way to the Viscount’s palace and Remi followed Aren’s lead. She knew this place better than he did, and she knew what she was doing.

            Once past the Seneschal she was greeting her friend and Remi was surprised to see Kirkwall’s Viscount was a dwarf. Interesting times, he supposed, but greeted him nonetheless.

            “So you’re the one Lucky woke up huh?” Varric asked, and Remi cast a sidelong glance towards Aren.

            “Did you tell everyone?”

            “No,” She laughed, “Only Varric and Hahya. And only what they needed to know.”

            “Yeah, Lucky was pretty mum on the details of who you were.”

            “Phillipe Lyons.” He said and Varric began to laugh.

            “If that’s not a fake name I don’t know what is. Ah well, if you don’t wish me to know, then I suppose I will let it slide.” He grinned, and Remi had to smirk, the dwarf would find out eventually. He seemed the type anyway. “So, my friendly flower child,” he turned his attention towards Aren. “You finally got my message.”

            “I did, indeed. What couldn’t you tell me on paper?”

            “Hawke is in Starkhaven.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, shocked the shit out of me I’ll tell you that. But Hawke always had this weird connection with Choir Boy, so I can’t really be too surprised that she went back to him.” Remi could see Aren was confused and admittedly so was he.

            “Sooo?” Aren raised her brows.

            “So, we’re heading to Starkhaven. Perfect timing too, since the ceremony is in ten days.”

            “Ceremony?” She asked.

            “Yeah. The Champion of Kirkwall is marrying the Prince of Starkhaven.”

            “Hawke? The legendary Hawke is… Getting married?” Remi could see Aren was shocked, and he was a little surprised as well. He’d read up a little on the Champion of Kirkwall via Varric’s book.

            “Please believe, no one is more surprised than I am. It’s supposedly going to be really small. I honestly don’t know what Choir Boy did to convince her to marry him, but this should be one hell of an interesting ceremony,” Varric was beside himself with laughter. “I figured it’d be the perfect time to get your ring back.”

            “Well… I guess we’re going to a wedding?” Aren said, and Remi shrugged.

            “I never expected to be thrust back into these sorts of affairs, but so be it I suppose.”

            Varric laughed again, “Knowing Hawke, this should be an interesting affair to remember.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized these two dorks do a lot of drinking xD Oops! This chapter is NSFW!

            “So what’s the story here?” Varric asked, and Remi looked up from the bottle of booze the dwarf had passed around. They’d waited a few days to leave Kirkwall, letting Varric finish up some business, and they’d made camp only about a day or more out from Starkhaven. They decided to rest and not push it. “There’s something going on between the two of you.”

            He glanced at Aren, that coy look on her face as Remi passed her the bottle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She answered, and he liked the way she answered that, the subtle looks she gave his own way. It made him think that he still had a chance.

            Varric practically wheezed as he laughed, taking the bottle back from Aren. “Please, don’t think me a fool. I watched the same googly eyes from Choir Boy and Hawke out on the field, and the same look from the freakin’ Dread Wolf himself. I know a thing when I see one, and you two have a thing going.”

            Remi shook his head, “The lady says she does not know what you’re talking about, and neither do I.”

            “You’re not fooling anyone, and you _Phillipe_ are definitely not who you say you are. I have a lot of contacts in Orlais, and there or no lords with the name Lyons.”

            “You’re very astute, Viscount.” Remi remarked, “Who I am is of no importance. I faded long ago into obscurity.”

            “Now I really have to know,” Varric pressed. “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone, but I got a chunk of information from Hahya about things you failed to mention, as in you found him asleep in the lost city of Arlathan. Now, considering you’re looking for the Black Fox’s rings, and you said you knew someone who knew the location of his stronghold, you’ve got me guessing some crazy things, things that a writer would come up with.”

            “And what would be these things?” Remi asked, though he already knew the answer. Aren knew smart people, and he was right. It wasn’t hard to piece together the information he’d been given.

            “Lucky found the Black Fox himself. Normally I wouldn’t voice such a farfetched theory, but considering the crazy shit I’ve seen I’m willing to bet on it. Hell, I’d bet Kirkwall on it.”

            Remi shrugged, drinking some more, what did it really matter to lie? “It’s true.”

            Varric snorted, reaching for the bottle which Remi handed back watching him take the last pull. “Thedas is just filled with crazy shit these days. I really can’t make this up. Maker’s balls, how the hell did you stumble into this mess?” He looked to Aren who shrugged.

            “I don’t know.” She lied, not wanting to divulge that part of the story. He didn’t blame her, it sounded crazy enough waking him up in Arlathan, but to talk about a spirit leading her there was worse.

            “Well… Shit. And Chuckles wants to hunt you down because he thinks you know something more about Arlathan?”

            “I suppose so, though he has not found me yet.” Remi answered.

            “I think you’ve got your lucky flower over there to thank for that. If she can combat his powers, he might be leaving you alone until he figures out a way to thwart her. Might want to keep her close.” Varric winked, then laughed. The ale was thick on all of them at this point.

            Remi looked to Aren who stared emptily at the fire. He frowned, something obviously on her mind about Varric’s comments. Recently when speaking about the Dread Wolf, she’d become more uneasy about it.

            “Aren?” He called to her and she snapped out of it.

            “Hopefully I figure out what to do, otherwise I’m relying on blind luck.” She joked, earning a rousing laugh from the Viscount. “I’m not that great of a mage otherwise.”

            A half of another bottle later and Varric finally decided to retire to his tent, but Remi was content to lie out here and watch the stars. Aren had found her way to his side, curled up next to him, cold as per usual. She was sleeping now, a frown on her face. He wondered if that spirit was plaguing her.

            “Who are you?” He asked, maybe if it had taken a liking to him he could speak with her. There was no answer, only silence. “What do you want from Aren?” He tried again. “You should leave her be.” He felt a chilling presence at that one, but still no answer.

            So it would only speak with Aren? What if it was some elvhen spirit, quietly guiding her to do its bidding? He was starting to become angry with it, especially if it had put him to sleep rather than let him die with his friends, but more so for what it was doing to Aren. It seemed like it was becoming desperate, but Aren was reluctant to let it speak.

            “If you harm her… I will find a way to cut you down.” He said, a threat lingering on his quiet words. There was a faint whisper, he could’ve sworn. A soft plea that it wouldn’t hurt her. All of this was strange, but Aren had relaxed. Perhaps it was done with its conversation with her.

 

~~~

 

            Aren was tired, forehead leaning on Remi’s shoulder as they rode the horse that Varric had provided for their journey. This one was certainly no Turtle, it had much more pep in its step and she found herself missing Turtle’s lazy gait.

            “You two sure are cozy a lot,” Varric said, and she heard his familiar chuckle.

            “He’s warm,” She said at the same time Remi had uttered ‘I’m warm.’ Another laugh from Varric and more teasing ensued, but she couldn’t be bothered at this moment. Another night of dreams and whispers. They urged her to help Remi, but also to help Hahya, and she wanted to slam her head against a tree sometimes. She was getting quite tired of this.

            “Did you sleep alright?” Remi asked quietly, concern lacing his voice.

            “No,” She responded, “too many dreams. I don’t know what to do about it.”

            Remi was silent until she felt him try to turn to look at her. “Maybe you should listen?”

            She frowned, nose wrinkling, “I don’t want to listen to her.”

            “Maybe… it’s important. Maybe you’re more vital in the grand scheme of things than you think.”

            “I’m not important. I’m a thief, an explorer. I don’t have some other purpose.” She argued, and Varric slowed his horse to ride beside them.

            “Look, Lucky, some people are destined to be chosen. Hawke always felt the same way. She didn’t want to be the Champion, but it always seemed to fall into her lap, because she got shit done. She stood toe to toe with the Arishok, nearly died, but she won. And Hahya? She didn’t want to be the Inquisitor, just happened to be the one who intervened, and yeah, maybe she tried her best to not be Inquisitor, but she did it. The things I’ve heard about Queen Theirin? She was thrust into it too. It’s called destiny, kid.”

            “You think I’m destined for something greater?” She raised a brow.

            “You won’t know until you embrace whatever weird shit is happening to you. Maybe you were meant to find him? And maybe there’s something important in his stronghold that you two need to uncover. If Solas had eyes on the both of you then that must mean that you’re both destined for something greater.”

            “Do you actually believe in this shit?” Aren asked him, and he shrugged helplessly.

            “I’ve learned over the past fifteen years that it’s impossible to ignore divine intervention. Whether that means it’s Andraste or the Maker, it remains to be seen. But crazy shit keeps happening and I think that the women at the center of it are meant to be there, and it’s not just coincidence. Kind of fitting if you consider Andraste and her story.”

            “So what, now I’m some kind of bride of your Maker?” Aren sneered while Varric just laughed again.

            “Maybe not quite as fanciful, but you get what I mean right? Ohahn Cousland’s family murdered, and the famed Grey Warden Duncan just happened to be there to help her escape the massacre? She meets Alistair, and the two of them survive the slaughter at Ostagar? Against all odds they make it to the Archdemon, she kills it, and she lives?”

            “Some other magic was at play I’m sure.” Aren reasoned.

            “Hawke, who was at the Battle of Ostagar, manages to escape, they run away and it just so happens that their mother, a former Amell, has ties to Kirkwall?”

            “You’re stretching things now.”

            “By all accounts Hawke shouldn’t have survived the Arishok’s blow, even with her sister’s, Kahlan’s, healing. She should have died. Several times over, but somehow she’s alive.”

            “Varric this is all coincidental. I’m not like them. I’m not like Hahya either. I’m some piss poor Dalish elf who never fit in anywhere.”

            “You fit in with a merry band of misfits.” She could hear the smile in Remi’s voice.

            “What do you mean?”

            “You got along well with those other elves. Even I felt a kinship as we all ate together. It reminded me of my companions. We were all different, never really fit in with others, but somehow we found each other.”

            “I’m not going to join their cause. It’s suicide to go up against Solas.” Aren said to him.

            “Yeah, Lucky, but maybe you’re the piece they’re missing. You already foiled Solas’s plans once. Perhaps that’s why he wanted you to join him? Because he couldn’t fight you.”

            Aren ignored both of them, refusing to believe that she was anything special. She lived her life being an outcast within a clan with her mother. She didn’t know why her mother decided to stay with the clan when they barely tolerated her either. She never knew why, she didn’t tell her, she took that secret with her to her grave. Yet whatever it was lingered upon her, and every mistake she made built until they grew tired of her and wanted to teach her a lesson. Punish her for a mistake.

            It was midafternoon when they finally came upon Starkhaven. It was just as she remembered it, and it was a lovely city. It was probably her favorite city in the Free Marches, no monuments to slavery, and simple in a way. It was surrounded by a wall, flowing waterfall behind the palace, and from what she could remember the Vaels seemed like a good family. She was saddened to hear about their murder many years ago.

            Though she’d heard a lot of good things regarding Prince Sebastian Vael. He was fair, and kind. An honest man. It was funny to read Varric’s book and see that he had eyes for Hawke. They seemed quite opposite from each other, and within his book it was remarked at how weird it was. Varric was still shocked, he had spoken several times over on the way there about how he couldn’t believe Hawke was actually going to get married.

            They made it to the palace and were escorted inside right away. A figure was rushing towards them down the hall and she realized it was Hawke when the rather tall woman dashed towards Varric and gave him a hug.

            “Wow, Hawke, you look… Happy!” Varric said surprised and she laughed.

            “I know it seems silly Varric, but it’s the first time I’ve felt content in so long. Who are your friends?”

            “This is an old acquaintance of mine, Aren.” He gestured to her and Aren held her hand out to her.

            “Oh, Aren? I’ve heard quite a bit about you in letters. Seems Varric is crusading for his next ‘Book of Weird Shit in Thedas.’ You’re searching for the Black Fox’s stronghold?” She asked and Aren nodded her head.

            “Well, you could say that I suppose.”

            “It’s more for the adventure, yes?”

            Laughing, the elf nodded, “More the adventure and the company.”

            She raised a brow, “Oh?”

            Varric laughed, “Ah, this is… Who do you want to be today? Phillipe or Remi?”

            Aren watched Remi roll his eyes and offered Hawke his hand to shake. “Remi, Lady Hawke.”

            “Hawke is just fine.” She waved a hand, “Friends of Varric are always welcome here. I suppose I should give you both what you came here for, though tomorrow night is the ceremony. You’re more than welcome to hang around and take advantage of some lovely accommodations.”

            “Hawke, really… Are you okay? Choir Boy didn’t sell you into the cult did he?”

            She laughed, shaking her head, “Absolutely not, who are we kidding I’m still me. Sebastian is still respectful of my apprehension and I’m respectful regarding his beliefs and… honestly, after Adamant I went to Weisshaupt with,” She paused. “a friend. We were nearly murdered for speaking out against the wardens. For a while there we wandered, till we both realized what was important. I found myself here. He makes me feel safe.”

            “You need someone to make you feel safe?” She watched Varric raise his brows.

            Hawke scoffed, “It’s hard to explain, Varric, but Bass… He feels like home more than anything ever has. This is all strange and odd, but I’ve been here roughly four years now, and I haven’t wanted to run away, not like I wanted to every day when I was in Kirkwall.”

            “This is where you’ve been? For four years?”

            She nodded, “Yes, we kept it as quiet and secret as we could, however, his Seneschal, whom has been removed after I found him treating the elves terribly in the alienage, decided to blow it out in the open. When Bass proposed it… It felt right.”

            “Wow… Weird shit keeps on happening.” The dwarf bobbed his head. “Princess Hawke? Princess Vael?”

            Hawke blanched, “Maker, stop. Even Bass hasn’t tried any of that on me.”

            “I’m just testing it out,” Varric raised his hands, “see how it fits and all.”

            “It really doesn’t, but we decided to figure it out along the way. I know it’s strange Varric, but he makes me happy. And despite not ever wanting to be married, it makes me happy knowing it’ll make him happy.”

            “Then why didn’t you stay together after it all went to shit?”

            “We were at different points in our lives,” She merely shrugged, then glanced hers and Remi’s way. “Oh, I’m sorry, this must be absolutely dreadful for you both. Let me show you to your rooms!”

            “You’ll show us to our rooms?” Aren asked. “You don’t have some elven servants around to do that?”

            “Maker, no,” Hawke said. “Though, the ones that are here are paid quite handsomely. Before I even got here Sebastian had been working on improving relations with the elves in the city. Unfortunately, his dreadful Seneschal had been impeding his work. I followed him one day and found out what he was doing in the Alienages, and I told Bass. He cast him out, and he blew the whistle on our relationship trying to make him look bad for not being wed. Anyway, he went there personally to apologize, and he’s been making sure food is being dispersed as well as other supplies and fair work.”

            Aren raised her brows, she was shocked, she’d never heard of anyone doing this much for the elves aside for King and Queen Theirin down in Denerim until they were ousted from their home. “Wow… If only more people were like you two.”

            Hawke offered her a sincere smile. “I’ve made very great friends under different banners. One of the elves I know, who we’re both very close to, was a former slave, but one of the most protective and kind hearted souls I’ve ever met.”

            “She means Fenris, the brooding elf you surely met while in Skyhold.” Varric told her.

            “Oh!” Aren smiled, “Yes, Fenris! He was… Grumpy for sure with me. I don’t think he cares for mages,” She laughed, and Hawke cringed.

            “No, he doesn’t, but he’s willing to let the prejudice slide when trust is proven.”

            “I see.”

            “Well, anyhow here are your rooms. Feel free to get settled. Supper will be in a couple hours.” She told them, and waved to them as she continued to chat with Varric.

            “Separate rooms,” Remi raised a brow her way. “How will you stay warm?” He joked while she groaned.

            “Please don’t remind me. I feel chilly already.” She said.

            “It’s probably for the best,” He said, sheepishly looking down at the floor. “Je suis désolé, ma chérie.” Her nose wrinkled at his Orlesian words.

            “I’m going to need a dictionary if you keep using your fancy Orlesian on me.” She told him, beginning to smile which caused him to crack a grin.

            “Maybe I’ll tell you,” He smirked, “someday.” And he left her to contemplate his words while she went into her room.

            She laid awake that night after supper, no whispers were catching her mind and she almost didn’t know how to handle the silence, but she relished in it while underneath a blanket and listening to the crackling of the fire.

            She thought about Remi, and the same pressure of feelings found her when she did so. She liked him. It wasn’t just the spirit. She’d felt its presence leave her for the time being after her dreams the previous night. It was stressful, why couldn’t it just be gone all the time? But she knew what she wanted now, almost willing to head across to his room immediately. She held fast though, not wanting to seem too desperate in this cat and mouse game they had going. She’d rather be the one doing the teasing than being the one teased.

            The next day seemed to go by in a blur. The ceremony was actually lovely, Hawke’s younger brother was there, though apparently her sister was unable to attend. Varric explained that Kahlan had been lying low for years now, and was too far to make it to begin with. Apparently those communications had been very secret.

            Aren had to admit that Prince Vael was certainly charming to say the least. He’d taken her hand, bestowed her with a kiss to her knuckles, even going so far as to say that she needn’t wear a headscarf to cover up her ears. She had to admit that offer made her blush, she hadn’t been expecting it, and she hadn’t expected someone like him to even be able to tell.

            Earlier, after the ceremony, she had watched Hawke as she danced with Prince Vael, happy and the very picture of royalty. When she’d read Varric’s book about her she would have never guessed that Hawke would be the type to be married, and she was the kind of woman who would scoff at the idea of being a Princess. Although she still did, cringing when the Chantry priestess married them and called her Princess Vael. It was cute though, Sebastian had merely chuckled at her slip and she actually looked embarrassed that she had done so. However, he didn’t care; the love the man had for her was so plain and clear it would take a fool not to see it.

            “I’m still keeping my last name,” She had said to him, and Aren nearly burst into a fit of laughter at that part. ‘Typical Hawke,’ Varric laughed. Prince Vael had merely responded with he wouldn’t have it any other way.

            She found herself moseying around trying to find some sort of booze, twirling about in her silly dress. She kept her cloak wrapped about her, for the cold, but mainly because the dress didn’t cover up enough of her back as she would’ve liked. It’d been so long since those lashes had marred her skin, but the memory still clung close to the surface.

            She turned a corner and abruptly moved back. Down the hall the Prince had eased his bride against the wall, both of them sharing a heated look until he pressed his lips to hers and pinned her arms beside her head. Varric had said Sebastian was chaste for a period of time, but those roaming hands certainly betrayed that notion.

            Aren spied a little longer, almost a little shocked that they were displaying this kind of behavior where they could so easily be caught. However, since they had wanted the ceremony to be small and as private as possible, the guard duty was light with how few guests there were. Though when Sebastian’s roaming fingers slowly pulled Hawke’s dress up so he could slip his hand up her thigh, she started to believe that they were having a slight thrill at the prospect of being caught. She heard Hawke’s laughter ring down the hall, a breathy sigh escaped her and the Prince’s chuckle reached her ears. She felt her cheeks begin to heat as she leaned back bumping into a solid chest.

            “Ar—” It was Remi and she quickly placed her hand over his mouth and shushed him. He gave her a quizzical look, but he kept quiet and merely peeked around the corner, staring a moment before he turned back to her. “Well, that was unexpected.” He whispered, and she could see a rosy hue to his cheeks. She tugged on his wrist and they hurriedly left the hall to head back towards the ceremony room.

            “What were you doing spying on them?” He was smirking at her and she shook her head, vehemently trying to deny it.

            “It was an accident, I was just trying to find some wine or something…” She told him.

            “Admit it, you were enjoying watching them,” He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes. “You know in Orlais they held parties where such a thing was encouraged.”

            She narrowed her eyes at him, “are you drunk?”

            “Maybe…” He admitted, pulling out a bottle from his jacket.

            “Without me?” She mock gasped, “How dare you!” She took a long pull from the bottle, sucking in a breath after it slid down her throat so smooth. “So tell me, Black Fox,” she said low, circling around him, “did you attend these parties?”

            His smile was cheeky as he watched her. “Maybe.”

            “And did you participate?” She took another pull, already feeling the tingling effects of whatever liquor he’d managed to find.

            “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”

            “How noble of you,” She said, taking one more drink before she could really feel the effects and handed it back to him.

            “Do you like to watch?” He asked, and she couldn’t help the drunk giggle that escaped her.

            “You really are drunk!” She said, not having seen him this far gone yet. They’d drank before, yes, gotten drunk a tad, but he was delightfully deep right now, and she couldn’t deny she enjoyed the gaze he had upon her. However, something seemed to click and he immediately grimaced.

            “Apologies, Aren… I did not mean to press like that. I know you are… conflicted and I shouldn’t behave this way.”

            “Wait, Remi—”

            “There you two are! I was wondering where that bottle of Starkhaven scotch had gone off to!” Varric interrupted and Remi gave him a sheepish look.

            “I’m sorry, I did not realize it was yours.” He said and handed the bottle back to him.

            “Shit you two hit this hard huh?” He laughed. “Well, anyway, I also came to find you to tell you that since the hour is late the guards are wanting us in our rooms.”

            “Oh.” Remi said, glancing back to Aren and she gave him a delighted look.

            “Good, I’m tired anyway,” She said and they followed after her down the hallway their rooms were in. Truth be told Remi’s comments were resonating deep within her. There wasn’t any conflicting whispers still, no other strange feelings, only her own desires regarding the Black Fox. She wanted him, these were her feelings.

            Once back to their respective rooms, Aren waited till Varric slipped into his room and she followed Remi into his.

            “You don’t want your own room?” He asked, brows raised as he slipped his jacket off and she shrugged.

            “I’ve grown used to you keeping me warm,” She said and he rummaged in his pack to toss her one of his tunics. She went into the attached washroom, pulling off the pesky dress and all its undergarments to slip the tunic on. She shivered, it was rather cold in here, but she didn’t care. She knew she’d be warm enough soon, and she already felt heated at the thoughts.

            Remi discarded everything but his light trousers, too hot to care about having a shirt on. He laid in the plush bed, relaxing, enjoying the softness and cleanliness of it. This was one thing he could enjoy about being housed by royalty. The accommodations were always nice. He turned on his side, facing the window, seeing a dusting of snow outside. He rather liked the winter months. It was always so beautiful. He felt the bed shift behind him and his thoughts began to run wild, body beginning to warm even further.

            He swallowed, trying to keep his eagerness under control. He wanted her, wanted to make her feel good, ready to feel it for himself since it had been so long, but he was hesitant. Sharing a bed with her had become that much more difficult since they’d kissed, but he felt the tension thick already.

            He tensed though, realizing she had a full view of his back and he was about to move when he felt her fingers lightly tracing one of the many long scars. He shuddered, his body already responding, but he tried to keep himself calm despite his hazy thoughts.

            “What did they do to you?” She asked, sadness surrounding her voice as she followed the line to another puckered scar.

            “Lashed, starved,” He breathed, looking at his fingertips, “among other things.” He knew she shared a similar story, he’d seen her own lash scars dotting her skin before she tried to cover up with her cloak earlier in the night. It made her uncomfortable and he could relate. He turned to face her and her hand merely slid around his shoulder to rest on his chest. She didn’t take it away, her palm slid over his pec, and he cupped her cheek in his hand, thumb sliding over her chin.

            “We share similar fates.” She stated, looking up into his eyes. In the dimming light of the candle, the soft flickering of the fireplace, he could see the darkness surrounding those hues, and he assumed his own eyes mirrored her desire. She shifted closer and he took a deep breath when the curves of her breasts settled against his chest. Her hips eased against his and he knew she could feel him already hard through his trousers. She was about to lean in, close the gap between their lips, but even in his inebriated cloud he pressed his thumb against her chin to halt her progress.

            “Is this… what _you_ want?” He had to know, had to ask for his own conscious.

            “Yes. _I_ want you.” She said, conviction lacing her declaration. He slid his thumb over her lips, watching them part, and he closed the gap to sear her mouth in a hungry kiss. Her fingers danced through his hair, and he pulled her headscarf off, wanting to slide his hand against her features, feeling the jagged softness of her scarred ear. He tried to tug her hair out of its updo, finally succeeding so he could tangle his fingers in her hair too.

            The feel of her lips against his was better than before, he felt her desire, her assured want for him, and he let out a grunt when she draped her leg over his thigh. He reached down, gliding his palm along her smooth skin, up over her hip and stilled a moment at realizing that she’d come to bed without her smalls and wearing only his tunic.

            She smirked against his lips, and he whispered dirty things in his native tongue, tugging the pesky fabric up and over her head when she shifted to help him. She was pressing herself back against him, he felt her nipples against his skin as she moved and he groaned, feeling his cock grow stiffer. He wanted to take his pants off now and take her, but he rather liked the idea of savoring her as much as he could.

            He trailed kisses down her chin, throat, and she arched her back with a delighted sigh when he found her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. It’d been so long since he’d been intimate with a woman, so long since he could relish in those beautiful sighs when he would hit those right spots. He’d only had his hand since waking up, no one really catching his fancy, but Aren… She had him hooked straight from the beginning.

            “Remi,” She breathed his name. He wanted to hear it just like that again and again. He felt her hand slip between them, groaning when she gripped him through his pants. Her breath was hot on his skin as she leaned down to press her lips to his chest, mouth sucking and teeth sinking lightly into his skin and he was slowly losing his mind at the warmth of her touch. He imagined her mouth on other parts of him, sucking as she was, and he shuddered at the thought, parting from her so he could slip his only garment from himself.

            Before he could move to pin her back to the bed she was straddling him, looking down at his hard length. She gripped him again, and he could only dig his head back into the pillow, agonizing at her delicate touch. She pumped him, he gasped. “Please,” he begged, grabbing her hips and kneading his fingers into her rear. He felt the slick warmth of her touch the tip of his cock and he sucked in a breath when she slid further onto him. She was tight around him, warm, and he moaned when she seated herself firmly over him. Her hands were at his stomach, bracing herself, back quivering as she held still, as if this mere act itself was already causing her to unwind.

            He wanted to feel the ripple of her coming over him, the sight of her legs spread and his cock nestled deep inside her was nearly enough to make him come, but he caught his breath, calmed his senses, and moved his hand over her hip to press his thumb to that sensitive spot displayed right before his eyes.

            She gasped, lifting just enough for him to see himself within her and he moaned again at the sight of him so slick inside of her. He clutched her hip with his other hand, gripping a little harder to pull her back down so she was fully enveloping him once more, stroking her clit as she continued to pant. Her hips ground against his, he didn’t know how he wasn’t already spilling himself, but he held fast and strong. He wanted to feel her come undone over his stiff length, then he wanted her underneath him; his mouth between her legs to coax her back so he could feel himself within her once again.

            His name left her lips, his thumb sliding faster, and it was the most beautiful sound she could’ve made, a sharp cry, her hand covering her mouth, and she was bracing herself against his chest. Her hips ground against his, desperately seeking that slide and he moaned his own pleasure at feeling her warmth pulling him tightly.

            She was trying to catch her breath, hair spilling over her shoulders, her ears on display and he couldn’t help but burn for a moment at the thought of another person putting their hands on her to do her harm, to cut half her ear off. He reached up to cup her face, sitting up to press his lips to hers as she recovered from her high.

            He turned them around, laying her down onto her back. He eased away from her, cock sliding from her slick heat and he groaned, wanting to stay nestled inside of her. He kissed her, tongue sliding into her mouth, his hand squeezing her breast and he swallowed the sigh that escaped her and began to kiss down her neck.

            It started so frantically, he didn’t foresee that he’d want and need to slow this down, to savor every moment. Her back arched as he found her navel, he spread her legs and dipped down, sliding his finger over her slicked lips until he blew air on her clit and her hips jerked.

            Grinning he dipped down, tongue sliding over her and she gasped. It was exactly the sound he was looking for, he ached, release delayed for himself, but he couldn’t help wanting to get her back right where he needed her. When her breath quickened, hips beginning to buck a little faster, he sucked her nub into his mouth only to hear one last gasp resound from her. He pulled away, kissing his way back up her stomach, and she was pulling his shoulders to hurry him along.

            It wasn’t long until he was sliding back inside of her, feeling the tight pull of her once again that nearly made his mind black into nothing. She had some sort of hold over him, she really was magic personified. He pulled out only to thrust back inside of her when he found his senses. Each stroke was long and measured, then a quick thrust back into her warmth. Her hips met his, and all he wanted was to come, to feel her clenching him tightly again as he spent himself.

            His hips sped, he was chasing that release, listening to her moan beneath him, joining his own gasps and moans of pleasure. His muscles were tense, his hips losing their rhythm. He was about to pull out of her, delay it if just for a moment, only to feel her legs wrap tightly around him, her walls clenching him tightly and squeezing him to come. The groan that left him was long, body tense as he spent himself deep within her. She was moaning pulling him deeper and he gasped for air, his orgasm intense. He felt this one so hard, losing himself for a moment, until he was finally able to breathe. Her hands loosened at his shoulders, he could finally hear her panting near his ear, fingers sliding into his hair and stroking his scalp.

            “Mmm,” She hummed, resting her head against his chest when he finally moved to his back. “That was unexpected.”

            He blew out a sigh, content moan escaping him. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words to express how good she felt. He ran his hand up her back, fingers sliding delicately over her scars. He never thought he’d find these sorts of feelings again, but he had, and he didn’t want to let them go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translations  
> Je suis désolé, ma chèrie: I’m sorry my darling. 
> 
> Edit: I completely forgot to mention that Kahlan Hawke, who is mentioned in this chapter, belongs to the super wonderful and talented @badwolf626 on here and Tumblr! We decided our Hawke’s should be sisters :3


	8. Chapter 8

            Aren always hated stepping foot into Val Royeaux. Such a pretentious place, overwrought with arrogance and overindulgence. She tried to avoid it as much as she could, but this time around, business had taken them there, and she would go where the adventure led her.

            They found Hahya in the square, she was almost surprised to see her by herself, figuring Fenris would be by her side, but then again, he was probably looking after her son. The elf was her usual surly self upon greeting, and they followed after her as she led them through the city.

            Remi tried to be amiable, she couldn’t help but grin at the lightness he held about him. He tried not to let on that he felt happier, and she tried to do the same, but she wasn’t in any place to deny that she truly enjoyed his company and she supposed the feeling was mutual. She’d had fun, probably too much fun, and it was nice for a change to make love to a man who didn’t see her as some sort of exotic pet or plaything.

            She had to admit her fondness for elves was limited. When they were Dalish they didn’t hold her interest, too set in their ways, too fragile. Then most city elves weren’t bold enough, and she had to keep up appearances anyway and steer clear of the alienages if she wanted to not get outed. If she were to be honest elven men like Zevran would catch her eye for fun, but if she was truly forthcoming she fancied human men most of all.

            Which was a shame really. She couldn’t be herself with most of them, but Remi was different. She didn’t understand how he was different, how he didn’t hold that prejudice, but the only concern he had was with her being a mage, and that was because of a past lover who’d spurned him. She couldn’t fault him for that.

            She was dragged out of her stupor when she found their group being ushered into a house. Hahya’s friend must have been someone quite important if she was able to own a place within Val Royeaux.

            “My dear, it is _so_ good to see you. I trust you’ve been well?”

            “I have. This is Madame de Fer,” she turned to Aren and Remi. “You can ask her your questions.”

            “My word,” Vivienne chuckled, “My dear, where did your manners go?”

            “What manners?”

            Vivienne smirked her way and Aren could see a slight little smile on Hahya’s lips. “Well now, I’d never heard of the famed Black Fox having children,” Vivienne raised a brow Remi’s way and he looked between her and Hahya. “Oh, please, my dear, my love had a painting of himself and the Black Fox in his salon, and you are the spitting image of his _old_ friend. Are you his grandson?”

            “No, I am not.”

            “Curious then. Come now, let’s not keep the suspense going, you must tell me what’s going on.”

            “He is the Black Fox, Vivienne,” Hahya spoke up.

            “Darling, you must be joking, Bastien was younger than Lord Remi Vascal, what on Thedas are you talking about?”

            Remi let out a sigh, “I am what she says I am.”

            “Remember how the Sentinels woke up at the Temple of Mythal?” Hahya asked her and Vivienne was alight with curiosity. “Same situation, but Arlathan.”

            “I didn’t tell you this,” Aren raised a brow her way and she only received an indifferent look back.

            “Zevran told me.”

            Aren scoffed, “Secret my ass.” Remi was glancing her way, “I didn’t tell him he guessed.”

            Madame de Fer seemed to be in her own thoughts until she finally spoke again. “This is most profound,” her brows were raised. “My love spoke highly of you, my dear.” Vivienne stood stepping towards Remi and clasped his hand. “He would have been thrilled to know you survived.”

            Aren watched the look of guilt pass over his features, but he nodded. “Merci… When did he die?”

            “About four years ago now. He became ill. Hahya was gracious enough to help with finding what we needed to aid in his health, but it was unfortunately too late.” She watched the sad look cross Vivienne’s features, her lost love still hurt.

            “He was a good man.”

            “He was indeed. Is there anything that I can assist you with?”

            “We’re looking for my old rings. I thought if anyone may have acquired one it would have been him.”

            There was a fond smile on Vivienne’s face and she left the room and came back moments later with a little box. She opened it revealing the ring, beautifully kept, and looking brand new. “He told me how long he spent looking for your rings when he had heard of them being scattered about. He sought them out for a long time, yet he only managed to acquire one. He said you were a marvelous man, Lord Vascal.”

            He shook his head, “My old friend spoke far too highly of me.”

            “Nonsense, my dear. Please, take it.” Vivienne insisted as she held the box closer to him. “Though it is a clever little trinket, it’s far too garish for me. Plus, my love would have wanted it to go back to you.”

            “Je suis honoré, Madame.” Remi bowed and took the ring, slipping it onto his index finger.

            “Oh, darling, please don’t wear those to any galas you plan on attending. It looks absolutely dreadful having that many rings upon your fingers.”

            He chuckled, nodding his head, “I assure you, I won’t make that mistake. I do have another question. Lady Mantillon has passed, no? Would you happen to know if she also has anymore rings?”

            “Indeed, I believe she does. Bastien had tried to buy them from her, however she wouldn’t budge. She’d given one to the Grand Duke and the Empress long ago, but I believe she possibly has several others. She went through a great many lengths to acquire those. I fear if I inquire on your behalf it’ll only let her little retch of a son know how valuable they really are. Though I won’t openly condone this, I heard you were quite skilled when it comes to matters such as… obtaining things. I’m sure you’ll figure something out, my dear.”

            “Merci beaucoup, Madame de Fer. I appreciate your generosity.” Remi nodded to her again and she smiled warmly.

            “Don’t get used to it, darling, I have a reputation to keep up.”

            After a bit Aren and Hahya left Remi so he could chat more with Vivienne and made their way out into the city. Aren knew she needed to ask the woman what she’d failed to ask her when she’d last seen her, but it was still hard to put into words.

            “You’re fidgeting. What do you want?” Hahya asked, glancing Aren’s way.

            “You said… You drank from the Well of Sorrows and had Mythal in your head. How does that work?”

            “She speaks to me in whispers sometimes. She warned me to take caution with him after we defeated Corypheus. Before I could understand her whisperings, get more answers regarding him, it stopped.”

            “Completely?” Aren quirked a brow. “That seems odd.”

            “It was very odd. She enveloped my mind quite a few times, so it was odd for her to disappear. I suspect he had something to do with that.” There was silence between them for a beat as Aren leaned over the rail that overlooked the city. “You hear your own whisperings, don’t you?”

            Aren’s lips parted, but she slowly nodded. “I do… How do you know?”

            “Her whisperings have been coming back lately. She was particularly cryptic regarding you when you showed up. There’s a spirit. She’s latched on to you, because you share her bloodline. She’ll want to use you.”

            Aren shook her head, “Why?”

            “Because you’re the only one who could handle it without going crazy. She doesn’t want to harm you, but she needs your help.”

            “Why me?” She stared down at the people walking below. “Couldn’t there have been someone else?”

            “None with your energy, your powers. Your blood. Supposedly you’re unique.” Hahya told her.

            “How do you know all this?”

            “Mythal knows everything, apparently. It’s most annoying. She said you’re only half elf.”

            Aren felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “That’s not possible. If I’m a half elf then I shouldn’t look like an elf.”

            “Precisely what makes you unique.” Hahya said, tone still flat. “She said you’re not half human.”

            Aren frowned, trying to figure out what the other half of her person could’ve been. There was no way, but that was the only thing she could think of. When she’d gone up to the mountain that her mother had liked to frequent there was something there, writing in a stone she hadn’t recognized. It wasn’t elvish, nor common tongue, Antivan, Rivaini, none of those. She began to assume her mother frequented that place because that’s what reminded her of good memories of her father. The writing that was there, it felt familiar despite her not recognizing what it was.

            “Mythal said you’re powerful, because not only do you share a bloodline with the spirit, but that you also share the blood of a Qunari Saarebas.”

            Qun-lat. The writing. It was Qun-lat. “I don’t believe it…” But she did. Why her clan hated her mother. Why they _loathed_ Aren. She was an abomination in their eyes. They had always been afraid that she was a mage, that’s why she’d kept it hidden that she was one. They were afraid of the terrible powers that Saarebas possessed, and given what she’d done to Solas during that first encounter, and the way she ripped half her clan apart when she’d finally had enough of the lashings, she could see it now.

            She felt a little sick, a little winded at hearing this, but it made sense. _You are unique, da’len. He is terrified of you. Of us._ She put her hand to her temple, she hadn’t heard the spirit’s whisperings in a while. She supposed she could hear her out, listen to what she had to say. If they could come to an understanding then maybe she would leave her alone.

            “Whether we like it or not,” Hahya spoke, “we are bound to these figures. We should count ourselves lucky they are only asking to be heard, and not taking.”

            Aren let a breath she was holding go, turning around to lean her back against the rail now. “When did everything get so complicated?”

            “There are evil tainted creatures searching for dragons deep underground, and humans who thought it was a good idea to drink the blood.”

            Aren stared at her a beat, “Good point.” She nodded. “So Solas wants to destroy the world, and you’re going to stop him?”

            “We could use your help.”

 

~~~

 

            After parting ways with Hahya, they had formulated their plans for the next rings. She found herself alone in an inn one night, falling asleep together, only to wake in the middle of the night to find he was gone. She was a little worried, worried that Solas would find out she wasn’t by his side, but the spirit told her not to worry.

            She sat in front of the fire, blanket wrapped tightly around her body as she stared into the crackling flames. She finally took a breath, closing her eyes and relaxing. She wouldn’t resist, she would let her speak and listen. Maybe.

            _Ir abelas, Arenaria._ She heard the voice say, clear as day. _I have not meant to frighten you these many years._

            She could see her coming into detail, see what she looked like now. A tall slender elf, dressed in a decadent robe with ornate details. Her hair was long, black; eyes a shade of iced silver. They looked nothing alike, or at least she didn’t think they did. She felt as though they were standing together on a cliffside overlooking what once was.

            _Who are you_ , Aren finally asked, there was a pleasant smile on the other elf’s face.

            _I am Renan. I’m sorry to have troubled you. Thank you for finally listening to me._ Her voice was pleasant enough now, and clear. The fact that it was clear made the ache in her mind ease.

            _What do you want from me?_

            _You are called to a higher purpose._ She responded and Aren crossed her arms.

            _Says who? You? Because you ‘chose’ me?_

            _We are bound by blood, Arenaria. And you have the potential for so much more because of your father. Solas must be stopped. If he tears down the veil then he will allow his new world to be wholly consumed by the taint. Stopping that is of far greater importance. He will allow it to spread through m—through the eluvians._

            Aren raised her brow at the woman, _There’s no cure for that._

            _There is. That will be discussed another day. You, my child, are far stronger than you know. If you embrace it, you will be unstoppable._

            She shook her head, turning away from her. _I don’t want to be unstoppable… I just want…_ She let out a sigh. She really didn’t know _what_ she wanted. Just that adventure called to her. Love… love called to her too. _I want to help Remi._

            _As you should. You must keep him safe._

            _Why did you fall for him?_ Aren asked, watching a sad little smile spread to her lips.

            _I knew a man just like him… I suppose that’s where my fondness came from. Though what I feel is not what you feel. What you feel for him is real._

            _Why does Solas want him?_ She asked, and Renan looked out across the canyon.

            _He wants what he has locked away in his stronghold._

            _What is it?_

            Renan lightly shrugged, _That I do not know. I do not believe Remi knows either. We will continue this another time._

            “Aren? Aren,” she felt a gentle shake at her shoulder and her eyes fluttered open to see Remi kneeling beside her as she laid on the floor in front of the fire. “Are you alright? Were you cold?”

            She was groggy, felt weak, only managing to shake her head. “No…” She said faintly, and he placed his hand to her forehead.

            “Are you okay, Aren?” His tone was more worried, and she shrugged, not really sure herself. He scooped her up into his arms and brought her back to the bed. She watched as he stripped down, putting on his sleeping trousers and crawled into bed beside her.

            “Where did you go?” She asked, feeling his lips press between her brow.

            “We can discuss that tomorrow.” He answered, but she managed to prop herself up to look at him. He let out a sigh, reaching over to the table beside the bed. “I snuck into the Mantillon estate. I found these.” He held up two rings for her to see. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t get it out of my head to go, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

            She eased into his side, relishing in his warmth. She didn’t care that he went without her. “I’m glad you got that Black Fox rhythm back.” She said, and drifted off to sleep.

 

~~~

 

            “So, are you sure you’re ready for this? Ready to deceive her relatives?” Aren asked as he helped her into her dress, buttoning up the many buttons up her back.

            Vivienne had informed him of a gala that the Montforts were having and had gotten them an invite under his assumed identity. He wondered what he’d find there, if he’d find out what happened to Servana. Vivienne said she wasn’t sure, the Montforts were a prominent family with Duke Prosper at the forefront, but Servana was never spoken of much considering her being a mage. She said at one point she thought she belonged to a circle, but if she was still alive that remained to be seen. Especially with what happened with the conclave and the mage rebellion. Remi knew the circle was the one place she hated the most and had tried to avoid at all costs, which he assumed was the reason for her betrayal. If she turned in the Black Fox, she would avoid going to the circle, it was the only thing he could think of.

            “I don’t know what to think.” He responded, finally buttoning the last button at the back of her neck. He ran his fingers over her skin, easing in, settling his lips there and then placing his hands at her waist. He listened to her sigh, wanted to take that dress back off of her now that she had it on.

            “Mm, don’t do that… We’ll never leave,” She tried to pull herself away from him, but he gently tugged her back into his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face into her neck.

            “I’m nervous that we’ll find no ring. I’m all out of leads if this does not work out.”

            “Are you nervous that she’s still alive,” when she asked that he tensed a little. A small part of him thought of that, but the other thought she was gone and buried.

            “A little.”

            When he finally untangled himself from her, marveling at how beautiful she looked in that dress, they made their way to a carriage that whisked them away to one of the Montfort estates. Aren held tightly to her cloak, tucking herself into his side trying to combat the cold. He couldn’t help but chuckle, listening to her quiet demand to shut up, but he could feel the smile in her tone.

            He hadn’t felt this at ease in so long, but with that ease came the worry for her. He wanted to keep her safe, wanted to send that spirit away for bothering her. But she was far more powerful than he ever could dream of being, and there was no way for him to protect her though he wished he could.

            He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was meant for something greater, meant for more than what he could offer her. He was nothing in this time. An old relic. He wasn’t even sure what he’d find in his stronghold, but he had an odd feeling that there was something important in there. Though he also had a sense that Aren was going to go with the Inquisitor and her friends. She was meant for that, meant to go along with them on that journey. She was meant to protect them.

            “Remi, I need to tell you something.” She finally spoke up, and he hadn’t realized that he’d slipped his hand into hers, holding it tightly. The carriage came to a stop, the driver announcing that they’d arrived at the estate.

            “Perhaps we should wait till later.” He looked at her, seeing that there was concern in her eyes. “Is everything alright?”

            “I spoke to the spirit.” He watched her, saw the worry in her eyes. “She’s not so bad, I guess. She told me things though.”

            The door to their carriage opened, and the man waited for them to exit. “Do you want to talk about this now?”

            She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m cold. Let’s go inside.”

            “You’ll tell me later, yes?” He asked before she stepped outside.

            She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Yes.”

            He stepped out with her, eventually getting inside the estate to find the party in full swing as they were fashionably late. Vivienne was more than thrilled to pick out their outfits for them, insisting that Remi needed to get in with the current times of Orlais. He shrugged, never having been _in_ to begin with back in his time, but he let her do what she excelled at, which was helping them with these societal matters.

            Once inside he looked around, forced himself to mingle with people asking about who he was. They’d been hearing things, about how he bought the old Vascal estate that had fallen into ruin and was fixing it up. They were intrigued, and soon tales of that cunning fox began to leave their lips, though his legend was met with scoffs and anger. Of course the upper echelon of Orlais didn’t like the Black Fox. He stood for everything that was against what they stood for.

            He chuckled along with them, Aren chiming in every so often, deceiving them of her own race. She was so good at making people believe that she belonged, and he dared anyone to say otherwise. She made up a fanciful story about how her family was from old money in Antiva, how they met and ran away together, the scandal of it all. And they ate it up like those fancy little cakes. He was mesmerized by her, so much so that after his third glass of Orlesian wine and a very close dance he couldn’t help but whisk her away to a dark corner.

            “We can find a room,” He said huskily, pulling Aren close as he sucked at her neck.

            “Why find a room when we have a corner,” She breathed, and as much as he liked that idea, he wanted to be able to keep up the pretenses of being a noble in case they needed to gain access to more of these parties. However, he was very aware that he did start this little tryst in the corner. It was all his fault.

            “As appealing as that sounds, I’d rather lay you down on a bed,” He said, pulling her lips to his and working them. He couldn’t get enough of her, the soft gasp before each kiss, the way she challenged him. He enjoyed it, drank his fill, and wanted a quick touch before finding a room. He pulled her dress up, finding the slit, sliding his hand over the hosiery on her legs till he found the bare skin of her thigh.

            A voice cleared behind them, “I will not have this go on in the halls of my family’s estate.” A woman said annoyed and they quickly tore away from one another. He turned around and when the elder woman got a look at his face she stilled as if she’d seen a ghost. “Remi? Remi Vascal?” She uttered, and when he took a deeper look at her it finally clicked. Servana. The very same Servana de Montfort that caused a year of his life to be stolen. He wasn’t prepared to see her. The little sliver that was there thinking she was alive before the evening began had diminished as soon as he’d roamed the ballroom taking in all the faces.

            He swallowed hard, finding he was still bitter despite her involvement in his rescue. It took her a year to tell Karolis, Bolek, and Clementis just where it was he’d been imprisoned. “Servana. You’re still alive.” He stated.

            “This cannot be. Who are you? What kind of blood magic is this?” Before she could call for a guard he held his hand up.

            “Je suis désolé, mais je devais le faire.” He said and she immediately stilled. “You said this to me when you begged for my forgiveness. I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

            “Remi, is that really you?” She asked, taking one step forward before she stopped, seeing the look in his eyes. “How is this possible?”

            “I found Arlathan, but at a price.” He told her, Aren was quiet behind him, observing.

            Servana straightened, “Eternal youth does not seem so bad.” She spoke but she silenced immediately at seeing the anger that must’ve been written all over his face.

            “I suppose you should count yourself lucky. I got everyone killed. Then cursed to sleep for an eternity.” She was quiet for a moment, till her eyes slid towards his companion and she sneered for but a moment till she was saddened once more.

            “I was recaptured by the Templars and placed back in the circle. Death some days would have been preferable.” She straightened. “What are you here for, Remi? To shame me?”

            “No, I came for my ring. I know you stole one from me.”

            She pursed her thin lips together. “How did you know?”

            “My ring finger? It could not have been more obvious, Servana.”

            “And what do you plan on doing with it? Give it to that trollop?” Aren snorted behind him and Servana’s nostrils flared. “I had him before you; long ago. You think you have won?”

            “I don’t believe people are possessions. I don’t own him or his actions.” She said smoothly, unaffected. Aren had been talked down to she knew exactly how to eat at these nobles.

            Servana swallowed, composing herself. “Apologies, that was callous of me. Come. I will fetch your ring.” Aren nodded to him as he followed after his old lover. She found a bench and sat, and he nodded back to her.

            Once to her chambers he followed her inside. “I trust this will not be an issue?” Remi asked, still wary of her actions.

            “Remi, I regretted every single day of my life what I did to you.” She said, “I am an old woman now, it would do me no kindness to betray you once more. Even if you found a new lover. I should not be surprised, you were always charming. I knew I was not the only one.”

            She hadn’t been, but for a while she was. Until she betrayed him for her own purposes and left him to rot. It stung still, for him it felt like it had only happened a year ago. “I’m not the same as I once was.”

            “No. I knew the day you decided to venture to Arlathan. It was your own reckless death march, but I wanted to be there with you despite it all.”

            “I was angry, and I took them all down with me. By some cruel fate, I was allowed to live. I had no life here when I woke.”

            “Had? You seem to have found a new purpose then. With her.” She smiled solemnly. He looked at her a little confused while she found a jewelry box in a chest. “She has brought that light back to you, Remi. The day we parted it had faded to nothing. What I see now is a man with new purpose.”

            Remi scoffed, he knew that Aren would leave him, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it from happening. Usually that was his role, he left so many times, never returning to women he’d made promises to in the past. Now that the sinking feeling that she would leave him for a higher purpose was growing stronger he felt the emptiness returning that he’d felt when he woke up.

            “Soon, I will have nothing again. Nothing but my own guilt, shame, and regrets.” He looked at the floor, unable to face the woman who had betrayed him, but that he’d also betrayed. “Did you really think we could not keep you safe?” He said softly, still watching the floor.

            “I feared that you’d grown tired of me… I worried that you would not want me at your side since I was not your only lover. I was young, jealous that I wasn’t your one and only.”

            “I’m sorry I made you feel that way…”

            When he glanced up he watched her shrug, she was still staring at the little box in her hands. “I was young and in love. You were not.”

            “I did love you…” He said weakly.

            “But you were not _in_ love. I was never on the receiving end of that look you gave to that woman… It is okay, Remi. Fifty years have passed. I would like your permission to look back on those memories of us all together with fondness, and not with guilt and shame. Can you forgive me?”

            He didn’t know if he could really, truly forgive her. But he could grant her the thought that he had. He understood her reasoning now. She was scared, didn’t want to go to the circle that her family had tried to force her into. It had been hard for her, and he hadn’t understood it at the time. He was just angry, so angry and not able to let it all go. He swallowed hard, nodding as she opened the box and took the ring to place in his palm, clasping her hand over his.

            “I forgive you,” he told her, though he couldn’t look into her eyes when he said it, only after. She smiled sadly until she finally let go of his hands.

            “Merci beaucoup, Remi.” He watched her as she gingerly sat down on the bed, a tear slipped down her cheek. “Do me a kindness, Remi; be careful on your new journey. Keep that new light burning bright.”

            “Au revoir, Servana. I hope you have found peace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations(Again I hope I'm getting these right, I'm still rusty xD):  
> Merci beaucoup: Thank you very much.  
> Je suis désolé, mais je devais le faire: I'm sorry, but I had to do it.  
> Au revoir: Goodbye.


	9. Chapter 9

            She stood back a little ways, watching him absorb his old home. It was as if he was memorizing it, trying to keep the image in his mind. He had good memories there, she knew he did, but there was also pain and so much regret. It wasn’t finished yet, but she was sure the workers fixing it were merely weeks away from restoring it. He entrusted a keeper to look out for it, to pay the workers at the end of each day. She wondered why he thought he’d never see it again, but that was the feeling he gave off.

            Was it worth it to find his stronghold? Once he’d obtained the last ring she had begun to develop an uneasy feeling in her gut. Renan had softly assured it was nothing, that she was there to look after them and if need be she was able to thwart Solas if he tried to come after them again.

            Though she tried to reassure her, Aren still felt uneasy. “Remi,” she called to him. He took in a deep breath, finally turning to look at her. “We don’t have to… Go there.” He looked startled at her suggestion, and she felt the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. She was pushing Renan away again. The spirit was there as if she merely laid a hand on her shoulder, not inside of her, but she could feel the disapproval coming from her as if she was.

            A small smile crept to his lips. “Having second thoughts?”

            “Only a bad feeling.”

            She could see him contemplating for a moment, but shook his head. “No… I feel as though we need to go. It’ll be leverage. Whatever is in there, that man, Solas, he will not stop hunting either of us for it. We must go.”

            She nodded, he took one last glance back at his estate, and hopped up onto a horse. It wasn’t Turtle, he was staying here at the stable. As Remi had put it, he was too slow for this journey, and he was anxious to get there. She hopped onto her own horse, though uneasy about it. She’d rather walk, but this would be quicker, and they would tire their horse should they both ride on one.

            Once they had crossed the Waking Sea she began to guess where he was leading her. He hadn’t told her, only kept her guessing. But the direction was south and she knew what was down there. The Arbor Wilds; The Temple of Mythal.

            “You do know that the Inquisitor was down there right?” She asked when they were close to a day’s ride from the outskirts of the Wilds’ forest.

            “I did not know that. Regale me of the tale,” his smile was warm her way, and she moved from her spot over the fire to his side. It was cold down here as well, and he extended his arm around her to wrap her up in the blanket he had around him.

            “Well, you know about Corypheus now. About Solas. The Temple of Mythal is there.”

            “Really?”

            She craned her neck up to look at his surprised features. “You didn’t know? You didn’t find that?”

            He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I found a small stronghold in the woods. I didn’t think to go in any further. The tales of the forest were many, but I had not heard from anyone that the Temple lay within. I was only warned to not venture in too deep.”

            “Ignored of course,” she chuckled.

            “Naturally.”

            “What did you find?”

            “Well…” he was apprehensive, but he only let out a sigh before continuing. “I found a skeleton, these rings barely hanging off of its fingers. Nearby was a strange rock face, a doorway upon it. There were handprints on it, sunk into its stone, with sunken spots for these rings. They don’t all fit perfectly on my own fingers, but I gathered the hints and I tried. To my surprise it opened.”

            “What was inside?”

            He shrugged, “Nothing. A few broken things, but there wasn’t anything valuable or important. Well at least to me it wasn’t. I decided it was the perfect place for a stronghold of my own.”

            She wondered if there was something there that Solas wanted. He wanted to hang on to Remi, said that he _could_ have something he needed, or knew something more about Arlathan. What if what he was really after was something in Remi’s stronghold? Maybe it wasn’t valuable to him, but to Solas? Who could say for sure, but she had a feeling Renan knew more than she was letting on.

 

            ~~~

           

            Brush had overgrown the forest, but he was almost certain that he was rummaging around in the right area. The boulders began to look familiar, and the trees, though much taller, had a similar feeling as well. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the stronghold was gone, but he had to try. He wanted to know what was in there with a new perspective. Something important was in here that he overlooked. It was the only reason he could think of that that elf wanted him around for.

            “Remi?” He craned his neck to find where Aren’s voice was coming from. They’d been searching the perimeter of this area and he called back to her. “I may have found something.” She responded, and he hopped down from the boulder to trek to where her voice had sounded from.

            He stopped when he stood beside her, vines and dirt covered it, but his eyes couldn’t miss the silhouette imprinted upon the stone face. He felt thunder in his heart; this was it. Would the rings still work after all this time? Had everyone tainted them from their intended purpose?

            Aren began to pull vegetation away from the door and he took out the pouch from his jacket, placing each ring on the correct fingers. It felt surreal to be back here after fifty years. Taking a breath he stepped forward, placing his hands into their molds. A moment passed and he felt that tingle of electricity, a subtle light enveloping his fingers as the stone began to sink into the ground. The dragging groan felt as though it was thunderous to his ears and birds squawked as they were disrupted from their roosts.

            The darkness seemed to spill from the cave, but he noticed something caught Aren’s eyes. A sconce was on the wall and she stepped over the threshold and waved her hand over it. A strange green light emanated from the fire. It illuminated the hallway just slightly and she waved her hand over the other sconces as she went. He stepped inside, placing his hands to the prints just inside the doorway to close it, watching as the rock eased its way back up to the ceiling.

            The green light was bright as he followed the path inside and she looked around at the small cave. He had plenty of chests sitting around, old valuable trinkets set aside just in case he needed it, or a small village was in need. He had also taken the paintings from his home and brought them here. He could see the shadows hitting the blanket that was over them. He was glad he was smart enough to take most of those things from his home. More people would be wondering why he looked exactly like himself.

            He watched Aren curiously, slowly walking towards the far wall of the room. The tall item she came to a stop in front of was just an old broken mirror covered with a sheet. It was far too large, and he wasn’t exactly sure how it came to be inside this place. But it was worthless as far as he knew, its rippled glass barely even displayed a reflection.

            She tugged the sheet, dust billowing down, but she didn’t flinch as she stared at the mirror. “This is it…” She whispered, and he stood behind her a few feet.

            “It’s only a broken mirror…” He took another look at it and she slowly shook her head.

            “It’s an eluvian.” He could see the hesitation in her hands, yet there was a want and need to reach out and touch it.

            “What is that?”

            “It’s a… doorway. It leads to… Other places.”

            He was confused, surely even magic couldn’t conjure something like that up? “It… takes you somewhere?” He almost didn’t want to know, but he was a curious fox. He was intrigued, but the way she stared at it almost terrified him. As if it wasn’t Aren who was really looking at it. “Aren?”

            She swallowed hard, “I think he wants this eluvian.”

            “Why? Where does it go?”

            “Arlathan.” She stated.

            He shook his head, “But… he is already there. He has Arlathan.”

            “The real Arlathan.” He caught her whisper and shivered.

            “Aren, maybe we shouldn’t—” But she’d placed her hands to the broken mirror anyway. Slowly it manifested broken pieces, fusing itself to the glass. It shone bright, enough to light up the room, and suddenly it was shimmering like sun glistening off of rippling water.

            She shook her head, taking a step back and standing beside him. “Oh wow…” She said. “I blacked out.” She stared at it. “What the hell did I do?”

            “You… fixed the mirror, Aren. Maybe you should put it out?”

            “I… I don’t know how.”

            “You lit this!” He said incredulously.

            “That wasn’t me, and that spirit is quiet now.”

            He shook his head. “I don’t think this is good.”

            “Neither do I, but I feel like we should go through it.”

            He felt as though his eyes were about to pop from his head. “Pardon? You want to walk through that? What if he’s on the other side?”

            “I think… Yeah we’ll be fine.”

            “Aren, wait,” he pulled on her arm. “You really want to go?”

            She nodded, “Yes.”

            “ _You_?”

            She seemed unsure, but she nodded again. “Yes. You don’t have to go.”

            “I’m going if you are.” He nodded, trying to reassure her, but he was shaken. He was certain this was a terrible idea. She reached for his hand and he took it, feeling her squeeze it tight. She stepped into it, and he followed right after, closing his eyes and hoping for the best.

            Once he was sure they were through he opened his eyes, but began to feel as if a heavy weight was on his chest. It was almost hard to breathe, as if the air was filled with a thick fog. He looked around, a blue haze was settled upon what seemed like an endless amount of mirrors. The trees were strange, trees he’d never laid eyes upon before. Their trunks stretched up to a hollow orb of branches, unnaturally perfect, and he couldn’t shake the dead eeriness he felt here.

            Aren hadn’t seemed fazed, more in awe of what she saw around them. “It’s beautiful,” She said and he raised a brow as he tried to catch his breath.

            “It looks dead to me…”

            “What? Everything is alive, and bright.” She responded then she looked at him. “Remi, are you alright?”

            “I feel… I feel as though I should not be here.” He told her. “It feels heavy… Thick.”

            “You are more crafty than I first believed, da’len.” He was immediately alert, pulling out his bow, nocking an arrow despite the weighted sickness he felt. Solas crept around another mirror and before he knew it, Aren had shoved him back towards the eluvian. He was on his ass on the other side after falling backwards, and the mirror went dark before he could get back to it.

            “AREN!!” He shouted, his hands on the mirror, smoothing along it, willing it to turn back on. She was there alone with Solas, and though he knew she was powerful, he wasn’t sure what would come of her being there with him. He paced, wiping his hand over his mouth, taking in a deep breath and was relieved the sickened feeling had dispersed.

            He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew he couldn’t leave without knowing she’d cross back safely. However, there was also the chance that Solas would come through that mirror. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to outrun the powerful elf. He could run and be caught later or face him if he came through. Either way he was dead, and he hoped neither option would happen. More than that he hoped that Aren was the one to come back safely to him. He could only ask the Maker for help on this one.

 

~~

 

            His smirk was wolfish as he stared at her. “I will find him soon and take his keystone tokens he wields so blindly. I assure you of that. Though I should thank you for making it easier.” His tone was proper, dull. He sounded tired to her. “I had not the leads you had on tracking them down.”

            “Keystone?”

            “You know not of what I speak, and yet you so freely wield the power to bend the eluvians to your will?” His gaze was intense upon her, but she figured silence was a better weapon at this point. “I suppose I should have suspected before with your little outburst. It seems she’s taken a liking to you. Renan.”

            She swallowed, shaking her head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Your powers are too similar to hers, and to find you here; it is not a grand leap to come to that conclusion. The first of my people do not die so easily. Renan clinging to this world is not as surprising as you may think. She was too strong, too compassionate to take what wasn’t hers. Gentle persuasion was always her strongest suit.”

            Aren was slowly sinking into fear. She didn’t know what Solas would do, and so far Renan was quiet. She watched him carefully, as carefully as he was watching her. He wasn’t sure what to do with her either.

            “She was smart. She created this.” He gestured around him.

            “This place?”

            “No. The eluvians. Renan Eluvia was the voice of the seeing glass. The Eluvians were named in her honor.”

            “What happened to her?”

            “She became ill. A weary heart soon shattered at her loss, her pain.”

            “Keep going down this road and that’s exactly what will happen to Hahya,” she shot, watching him flinch.

            “She is… She was a moment of weakness… I do not need to explain myself to you. What we had was real, but it cannot… It will not keep me from what must be done.”

            “Are you that selfish?”

            “That is none of your concern. Renan and what she sealed away is. I control her mirrors, I walk freely through them regardless of keystones. Yet, there is one that I cannot pass through, one she made sure to seal off from all others but her for fear of future corruption. She was right. However, it is irrelevant now. I need what she hides. You will take me there.”

            “No. I won’t,” Aren felt herself saying, but it wasn’t her saying it. Renan had creeped in, but she didn’t ask. She took. “Banal nadas, Solas. Fen’Harel.”

            “Ah, so she takes.” Solas stepped forward, but she put her hand up, palm facing him with her fingers spread. “This does not need to end in conflict, Renan. I need what you hid away.”

            “You do not need it. You want it. You crave it. You cannot handle that power.”

            “But I can. Corypheus destroying my orb was not apart of my plan. I will use what you have hidden away to tear down the veil.”

            “You have no idea what you are doing.”

            “I know exactly what must be done, _hahren_. What you do not understand is that you can come back. Free of the limitations of being a wandering spirit.”

            “And the blight unleashed upon the world. Upon my mirrors. I think not.”

            “A blight is irrelevant. I will find them first.”

            “You mean to tell me your network of spies runs amongst the darkspawn now? The Grey Wardens,” She scoffed. “As prideful as ever. Dirthara-ma. Your pride consumes you.”

            He frowned, “If you will not help then I will—”

            “Do to me what you did to Mythal? You will not take so easily. As you said, the first of our people do not die so easily. I will not allow you passage through to the sanctum.”

            “Eventually you will. I suspect Arenaria is not as willing as you believe, otherwise you would not be fighting her so hard. I will take your Black Fox’s tokens. You cannot keep him safe forever.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he turned away from her, heading back to the eluvian that he had come from.

            Slowly Aren felt herself coming to her senses, whispers of ir abelas echoing her mind. She felt a quickening to her pulse, making sure Solas was really gone before she turned to the mirror she had gone through. She stilled, however, glancing over to an eluvian in the distance. It seemed unsuspecting, hidden amongst the others. It had nothing to note that it led anywhere important, and the glass was missing from its frame. It had no backing either, and through it she saw it framed a mountain in the distance.

            It led there, to the real Arlathan from what Renan had whispered before. It didn’t make much sense to her, but it was what it was. She pressed her palms to the eluvian in front of her, lighting it up and quickly stepping through.

            She was greeted to the sight of Remi, arrow poised and ready in his bow until he let out the breath he was holding and dropped them both. The eluvian dimmed behind her, and she was left breathless at Remi’s embrace. His lips on hers were like the first drink quenching her parched soul. She kissed him back, nearly desperately until he broke from their kiss and settled his forehead to hers.

            “I thought I’d lost you.”

            “You should have run,” she breathed, and he shook his head.

            “It wouldn’t have mattered. He would have found me regardless of how far I ran.”

            She hugged him again, glad to have him back, but terrified for his safety even more now. “We need to go.” She said.

            “Where?”

            “Far away from here, I don’t trust this place.” She untangled herself from their embrace, turning to the eluvian and before Renan could quietly protest she slammed her boot into the surface, shattering the entire thing. She should never have gone through it, never have listened to Renan, and she was furious that she had. She felt the spirit’s presence drift away, she knew she was angry.

            “Skyhold,” she said to him. “We should go to Skyhold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banal nadas: Nothing is inevitable.  
> Dirthara-ma: "May you learn."


End file.
